Redemption
by Jaenelle Angelline
Summary: Teen angst poses new challenges for John as he becomes more involved with Joss and Taylor's lives, and a secret John never wanted Joss to know comes back to haunt him in the most unexpected of ways. An old enemy draws him back to the CIA; new friends will help him reclaim his identity and life. Sequel to 'Catalyst'-reading that first is recommended.
1. Chapter 1: Assignment

**Person of Interest: Redemption**

**Chapter 1: Assignment**

**2006**

The dusty market square was right in the middle of one of Mumbai's most populous middle-class neighborhoods. As such, there was a loud cacophony of voices, accents, dialects, and other sounds; merchants hawking wares in a mixture of English and other languages.

It was so alien to John Reese that he simply trailed after Kara Stanton as she wove between vendors' stalls, selling everything from fabric to children's toys to food. Different smells assailed his nose, and although he'd been in dusty desert environments before—Afghanistan, Iraq—somehow, India seemed unique.

"Reese. Come on. Stop staring." Kara's imperious tone warned him that he'd better keep up—she was perfectly capable of leaving him if she thought it would teach him a lesson. She had before; John had had to find his own way back to their hotel in Rio when they'd gotten separated, early on in the days of their partnership, when he'd stopped to stare at the magnificent stone Jesus, arms spread wide, on the Brazilian mountaintop. That was the incident that had taught him that he'd better be completely focused on her and whatever their assignment was; no matter where they were or what they had to do, Kara never seemed to want to stop and take in the sights, never experienced the sense of wonder he felt when he saw something new, never was curious to explore tourist spots or ancient wonders. He'd had to sneak away from her one day and tour the Taj Mahal alone because she would never have approved of his going—and never understand why he would want to see it. All business, she was. No room for anything else.

He hurried after her now; she was dressed as a tourist, so was he, but their eyes were scanning the market for their target even as they both scanned the paperwork hidden in a tourist brochure. "Mahesh Rao. Born August thirteenth, 1970. Four sisters, three older, one younger. No brothers. Mother deceased, father is an exporter of India silks. Oldest sister is a factory worker in the father's factory, weaving textiles and making clothes; lost her husband to a factory accident, raising two children alone. Second sister married to a hotel owner who runs a small tourist bed-and-breakfast, no children, and they both recently filed paperwork to emigrate to the US. Third sister is an entry-level office worker in the front office of the town's mayor; youngest sister is the one he lives with, she's a doctor who takes care of the poor, one child, a daughter about six; married to an Italian man attached to the embassy in Mumbai.

"Mahesh Rao's sister, the doctor, is well-known in Mumbai and beyond reproach; she provides healthcare to the poorest people and those marginalized or ostracized, an outspoken activist for women's and girls' rights, and while that has garnered her some enemies in India's political circles none of them is a threat to us or to US interests. What is interesting is her brother's connection to the Italian embassy." Kara handed John a newspaper. It wouldn't have been obvious to a casual observer that the newspaper was about six years old.

The headline on the main article on the page had been circled. 'Accident in market square results in diplomat injury' said the bold dark letters, in English. John scanned the article quickly. An Italian diplomat had been driving back to the embassy from a consulate office on the outskirts of Mumbai; there had been an explosion in the market square, at a stall that sold firecrackers for children. The noise had startled the driver; who, thinking they were under hostile attack, had floored the pedal and accidentally rammed the car into the brick side of a building. The driver had been killed; the diplomat had been taken out of the back of the car by the security attaché; and a young female doctor had rushed out of the crowd and tended to the diplomat.

"So that was how the doctor and the diplomat's attaché met. They dated, then the doctor got pregnant by the security attaché, who, when he found out, accepted a permanent posting to the Italian embassy in order to marry the doctor, and they had a child, a daughter, eight months after they got married. Now, when she went up to the embassy to see her husband, before they got married, her brother, Rao, would escort her there. Apparently the attaché got his wife's brother a job at the embassy as a driver; and as a driver, he's suddenly privy to a lot of private conversations," Kara said briskly, and Reese nodded; he'd learned long ago that drivers heard much and yet were rarely ever noticed. People rarely ever thought about how much their doorman, driver, or receptionist would see of their personal business. These people were invisible unless something was wanted, and even then they were rarely ever actually paid attention to; they were simply robots to whom you gave an order and it would be carried out or you got someone else.

"Recently Rao got a salary raise, and he started spending some time at a local tavern, we assume drinking and doing some light gambling. One of the regulars has ties to the Muslim community in India, and that community has ties to the Muslim Brotherhood. So it's been decided to eliminate Rao, because that Italian diplomat is also one who's collaborating with US intelligence agents embedded here in India. We can't afford to have that get out, we can't afford to have the names of our intelligence agents get out, and this driver, the doctor's brother, working at the embassy as a driver by day and drinking and gambling by night, is an information security risk. So we're ordered to take him out."

"We're taking him out because he _may_ do something, not because he _has _done something or he's _planning_ on doing something?" John frowned.

"Not questioning orders, are you?" Kara asked sharply.

"Not really, I'd just like to know why we're so positive that he _will_ divulge who our intelligence agents are on the ground here. From what I see here he doesn't have a reason to—his sister's married to security personnel here, his niece is half-Italian and has Italian citizenship, he's making more money driving for the embassy than he would working in his father's factory, and he's reportedly a devout Hindu. He doesn't have significant debt to need money for; he's unlikely to buy into religious radicalism; he has family ties to the embassy." The picture John was getting didn't add up to a possible terrorist. "Rao has no real reason to betray the Italian diplomat. Doesn't need money, no girlfriend who's a fanatic, not affiliated with the religious sect presenting a threat, his only problem is that he gambles a little and drinks. He doesn't even gamble that much; his bank info here shows no big amounts coming or going either way, and he hasn't spent large amounts in the tavern, so he's not a heavy drinker." And he wasn't sure, but hadn't he read somewhere that Hindus didn't approve of alcohol?

"John, we wouldn't have been given his information if he wasn't a threat in some way, all right?" Kara sound exasperated. "Come on. We were sent here to do a job, let's just get it done so we can get out of this desert." She yanked the newspaper from his hand with just a little more force than was strictly necessary.

He didn't comment, but he gritted his teeth as he followed Kara. It just didn't fit. His common sense was telling him Rao wasn't a threat. But if he wasn't, then why had they been given his information? "So why are we looking for him here?" In a dusty market in the middle of Mumbai?

"He lives with his sister, John," Kara said in a tone of exaggerated patience. '"His sister has a daughter. When the sister is working or the child's father is working, Rao picks her up from school and brings her home and babysits until her mother or father gets off work." She dropped the sarcasm, became cold and businesslike again. "Their way home usually takes them through this market. He buys her ice cream on the way home from a seller over…there!" she pointed. "If we play this right, we can eliminate them now and be out of this dusty hellhole in a couple of hours."

"What are you going to do, shoot him in front of the little girl?"

He was being sarcastic, and so was taken aback when Kara said with perfect seriousness, "I will if I have to. In fact, since we're ordered to make this look like an accident, and any witnesses could be problematic, we probably should take the girl out too."

"I didn't get into this to kill children," he ground out through gritted teeth, but Kara didn't hear him—or if she did, she ignored him. He stared at her retreating back, wondering why he'd gotten into this CIA gig to begin with, then sighed. Leave the questions for later.

"Wait here," Kara said suddenly, and with a whisk of dark hair she vanished. He was left staring at the spot she'd formerly occupied, then realized that if he kept standing there he'd stick out like a sore thumb. He drifted over to a nearby stall with a crowd of customers, mingling with a line of people waiting for what smelled, to John, like some very good, strong coffee.

Screams and shouts attracted his attention, and he turned in time to see a car driving wildly, erratically, along the road leading into the market square. Reflexes kicked in; he scanned the immediate vicinity for anyone who might be in the way, or otherwise in danger. People were shouting and running; and in the middle of the melee, he suddenly saw a knot of people stumbling around and over what appeared to be a small bundle of clothing lying on the ground.

Directly in the path of the erratically driving car.

He dove for the little bundle of cloth, a very small, distant part of his mind realizing it was a child who'd gotten trampled, and tucked the child's body against his own even as he rolled, taking himself and the small body out of the way of the car. The car drove past, narrowly missing them, and headed out of the market along another street, followed by curses and shouts from the people who had had near misses with the crazy driver.

John slowly uncurled from around the child, looked down at the tiny bundle in his arms. Now he could see it was a little girl, he guessed about eight; thick dark hair cascaded in waves to her shoulders, though her skin was a lighter shade than many of the other faces he saw around him. But her eyes were closed, and he could see what was shortly going to be a huge dusky bruise on her forehead. And she was lying too still.

"Emmy!" Came a desperate shout, and suddenly there was a man beside John, grabbing for the child. "Oh my God, Emmy, please be okay, please…oh God, she's not moving…" He spoke in accented but still understandable English.

"Easy, easy," John said placatingly as he surrendered the little girl. "I think she's okay, she just got knocked out. Did you get separated in the commotion?"

"Yes, we did. I was picking her up from school and we were on our way home—we always walk through here and I buy her ice cream." He looked up…and John froze.

Mahesh Rao. Their target.

Several things clicked at once for him. The driver of the car had not been crazy or reckless; he'd bet real money that had been Kara. She'd deliberately started a panic in the crowded marketplace hoping to make Rao's death look like an 'accident'. The other thing that hit him was that Kara hadn't cared about collateral damage, hadn't cared if people other than their target had gotten hurt, that stalls had been broken, merchandise broken or ruined. Off to one side, a vendor who sold food was loudly exclaiming over his broken cart and spilled food; from the quality of his clothes, he was barely scratching out a living and the loss of his market cart probably represented a significant blow. Her casual callousness shocked him.

The other thing that hit him was that the girl must be his niece, his sister's half-Italian daughter, and the man's obvious panic as he took the girl from John's arms spoke eloquently of how much he cared for the child. And again it reinforced to John that Rao really had no reason to strike against the embassy, against the diplomat who employed his brother-in-law and the girl's father; had no reason to betray the Italians to a radicalist faction. On the contrary—as much as he apparently cared for the little girl, to judge from the frantic way he was performing CPR on the unconscious child—he'd have every reason to want to keep the little girl—and therefore the life she lived with her parents—intact.

John simply wasn't seeing 'terrorist' in Mahesh Rao.

The little girl started to cough, and Rao went wild with happiness. John couldn't quite understand the broken Hindustani that poured from Rao's lips as he hugged the little girl, but it was evident that he was very thankful that whatever God he believed in had spared the little girl—Emmy, he kept calling her.

John was about to stand, slip away into the crowd, when Rao caught his hand. "You saved her, you saved my niece. Thank you, thank you…you must come to dinner, you must meet her parents so they can thank you properly…"

"It was nothing, really," John said reassuringly. "Anyone else would have." _But no one else in the market would have been responsible for it happening in the first place,_ he thought to himself bitterly as he melted into the crowd, avoiding Rao's effusive thanks, ignoring the efforts of other people in the crowd to stop him and thank him for possibly saving the little girl's life. He paused for one last look at the knot of people behind him, then head for the hotel, steeling himself for Kara's anger. He had no doubt she'd seen what he'd done and was going to be angry—but as much as he wasn't looking forward to her wrath, he also couldn't bring himself to be honestly sorry he'd saved the little girl's life, let alone Mahesh Rao's.

She was furious.

He sat at the small table in their hotel room—since their cover was a married couple on a honeymoon world tour, it would have looked odd had they not shared a room; however, John couldn't possibly have found Kara any less desirable. It was odd, she was a pretty woman, with dark hair and eyes and fair skin, and when he'd first met her he'd thought her pretty; but after having worked with her for a year or so, now, while she was still pretty outwardly, there was nothing under the surface that attracted him at all. It hadn't taken him long at all to decide he really didn't like her personally and if they hadn't been partnered together, he would never have sought her acquaintance or even called her 'friend'.

He was rapidly starting to not like her professionally either.

"It was the perfect opportunity!" she snapped now, dark eyes flashing. "Run both of them over, they'd have died on the street. No one could possibly think of it as anything other than a regrettable accident. We'd have been on a plane out of here tonight. And then you have to go and ruin it! I swear, I know they picked you because you're good, and even I have to admit you have some of the best skills I've ever seen in any of my partners, but you have regrettable moral proclivities."

He'd never once heard it put in those terms. "'Regrettable moral proclivities'?"

She slapped a hand on the tabletop. "You let your feelings get in the way of what needs to be done. Come on, it's not that hard. Separate the man named 'John' from the assassin we created named 'Reese'. Lock down 'John's' feelings emotions, thoughts. 'John' has no place in the work we do. I'd rather get rid of 'John' altogether if I could. You'd be so much better a partner as simply Reese instead of 'John Reese'."

"Kara…I can't simply cut off part of who I am."

"Yes, you can. You have to. If we're going to play this game of assassins, I need Reese, not John. John is a liability. John's emotions are going to get all of us killed."

"I didn't sign up for this to murder children, Kara!" he was angry.

She leaned in. "Look, you served in Iraq. You know as well as I do that that a little boy you save from a landmine one day could turn around and blow you up with a suicide vest the next. Every person out there is a threat, whether man, woman, or child. Everything out there is a threat. And every threat has to be eliminated with extreme prejudice. 'John' is a threat. Reese is the only one I can count on but 'John' is Reese's weak spot. I need Reese, not 'John'. Got that?"

He couldn't answer her.

"I can easily ask Control to burn you and get a new partner. Do you want that? Assassinated by your own government?" John shook his head numbly. "Good. Then you lock John out. Get rid of him. You don't need feelings or emotions anymore. And to show me you've got that, your assignment now is to get rid of that child. She regained consciousness after Rao performed CPR on her. There's a chance she'll remember you. She is now a threat." Kara's voice went flat, hard. "Your part of this assignment now is to eliminate that threat."

"Kara…" he felt like he was on the edge of an abyss. He'd done a lot of things in his life that he regretted, but that was one line he'd sworn to himself he would never cross; he'd never, ever deliberately hurt a child. And here she was asking him to do something… unthinkable.

"This is your assignment, Reese. Get rid of 'John' and get rid of that child. I don't care how you do it, just do it." And she spun on her heel, left the room.


	2. Chapter 2: Shopping

**Chapter 2: Shopping**

**2014**

"Is John home?" were the first words out of Taylor's mouth as he hurtled across the lawn of his school and skidded to a stop next to Joss.

"I don't know. He's working, I think. Haven't heard from him today. Why?" Joss asked as she and Taylor turned and started walking toward her car.

"Um. Well, I know you iron his shirts and we've picked up his suits from the drycleaners like, once in a while, so I sort of wanted to ask him about how to pick a suit for the school Valentine's Dance tomorrow."

Joss smiled at her son. "Last year you went with a bunch of your friends in a group. Did you actually ask someone this year?"

Taylor rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I did, and she said yes."

"It's not that Kylie girl from your freshman year, is it?"

"No, it's someone different. Her name is Lia. Her Dad's Italian, in the Italian diplomatic security service, her Mom's an Indian doctor, they met and married and her Dad got a permanent posting to the Italian embassy in Mumbai to be with her. They sent her here to live with her Aunt and Uncle while she goes to school here.

"I wanna meet her."

"Her Aunt and Uncle are really traditional and she's not allowed to date. They don't even let her go out after school, or hang out with us after school if it's not a school function. The only reason she's going to the dance with me is because when I asked John for advice on how to ask her out, and how she could get permission, he said she should talk to her parents via email and ask them if she can go. If her Dad and Mom said yes, then her Aunt and Uncle couldn't stop her from going. So I told her what John said and she did that and her Dad said she works hard and deserves some fun and told her she could go. She showed me the email today, she's so excited. So now I have to get a suit and we have to go."

"You asked John how to ask a girl out?" Joss was having trouble wrapping her head around the idea.

"Yeah? Why not?" Taylor looked puzzled at her reaction. "Mom, going with a group of guy friends was okay last year because we were sophomores. This year we're Juniors. You can't go in a group of your buddies when you're a Junior, you _have_ to ask a girl out."

Joss suppressed a giggle. The way Taylor said it, it sounded like Sophomore year was years ago instead of barely twelve months. "There's whole world of difference between sophomores and Juniors, huh?" she said casually, waiting to turn out of the school parking lot.

"Yeah. Totally different world, Mom," Taylor said, oblivious to her sarcasm.

"Dad brought you back a day early last month. He really needs to make it up. I can drop you off at his place this afternoon and you can go shopping with him."

Taylor stared at her. "Mom, are you serious?"

"What? Don't be so dramatic, Taylor. He's your father, he's got a right to share these things with you." A long time ago when Taylor was little, she'd envisioned Paul taking Taylor hunting for a suit for his first dance with a girl. Just because she and Paul weren't married anymore didn't mean that it couldn't still happen.

But it was immediately clear that Taylor had other ideas. "I don't want Dad taking me shopping. The last time we went out it was right after a basketball game. He said he'd come watch but he spent most of the time sucking face with his new girlfriend."

"Taylor, don't talk about your father that way—"

"Mom, if he doesn't respect me enough to watch me play a basketball game, even if our team lost, then why should I respect him? And he doesn't respect you either." Taylor folded his arms defiantly. "After we lost Dad said he'd take me out for a milkshake. As a consolation. Like I'm twelve or something. And then when we were in the shop and he bought me the stupid milkshake even though I said I wanted a root beer float, he spent more time talking to her than me. I don't think he even knew what score the game ended with." He scowled. "I don't want Dad taking me shopping for a suit. Anyone but Dad."

Joss sighed. "All right, then you're stuck with me." She made a right turn and started heading toward the mall. She had the rest of the afternoon off, might as well get this over with. She wasn't exactly looking forward to suit shopping—guys' clothes weren't her forte. All Taylor's clothes till now had been jeans and t-shirts. Even last year's dance had been khakis and a button-down shirt.

Apparently, the difference between sophomores and Juniors was a suit.

* * *

"Come on out and let me see."

"Mom!" came an exasperated young male voice from inside the dressing room.

John Reese froze in the act of pulling a suit off the rack. Those voices were so familiar…he nonchalantly walked around the other side of the rack where he could watch the owners of those voices and not be seen, and then looked up.

And saw, as he'd expected, Joss.

Taylor must be in the fitting room; Joss was standing in front of it, her arms folded, purse slung over one shoulder. "Come on, Taylor, let me see. If you're going to refuse to ask Dad to take you shopping for a suit for the school dance then you're stuck with me."

"Yeah, well, Dad wouldn't want to. At least you do." The young male voice inside the fitting room sounded resigned. "Okay, I'm coming out, but remember, you picked this one."

Taylor Carter came out of the fitting room, and John looked the boy over. Joss had good taste in clothes; the suit looked good on Taylor. The problem was that it didn't fit right. It need to be a little looser over the boy's upper arms, so he could raise his arms without feeling restricted; the hem of the pants needed to be taken up—Taylor was a little shorter than the suit's legs—but overall it didn't look bad.

"It doesn't look bad," Joss said quietly, looking him over critically. "I like the way it looks, I just don't know if it fits right." She dropped her arms, sighed. "I really wish you'd done this with Dad."

"I didn't want to do this with Dad." There was an edge to Taylor's voice. "It's not like he really cares."

"Don't talk about your father that way, Taylor. He does care. He's trying to build a better relationship with you now."

"Yeah. Now. Not then. Not when we were all still living together. Not when you were married and not for the last five years when it was just us. And he's not trying to build a better relationship with you. He's uncomfortable around you. He never talks about you when I'm at his place on these stupid weekend court-ordered visits. I'd really sort of rather not go. I don't want to spend more time with Dad than I have to." He turned away from Joss, looking at himself in the mirror. "Though it would be nice to have someone who knows about suits to help. Just as long as it's not Dad."

Joss was quickly wiping her eyes. "Let me see if I can find a salesman to help." She turned—and almost collided with John. "John! Damn it, don't sneak up on me like that!"

He grinned at her. "Not keeping your guard up, Detective," he teased, but his smile was warm and understanding. Then he looked at Taylor. "You need a little more room in the arms there. The jacket's too tight across your chest."

Taylor beamed at him. "I've been working out in the school gym. I took weightlifting last semester. The girls like muscles." Joss rolled her eyes as John and Taylor shared purely masculine grins. "I asked Mom if you could give me advice when she picked me up from school but she said she hadn't heard from you and she thought you were working."

"I was. I got off a little while ago." He'd just wrapped up another number—since Joss had been working, he'd taken Shaw with him. It had been…interesting. Not a particularly challenging number this time, so he'd allowed her free rein when it quickly became evident to all of them that this number was clearly the perpetrator—a hired hitman sent to kidnap a rich man's son from his divorced wife's custody. Of course, the rich man hadn't known the kidnapper he'd hired had been planning on keeping the kid and asking for a double ransom. There'd been just a moment when John had thought he should let the rich man learn what being double-crossed felt like, but that wouldn't have been fair to the mother—or the child.

Shaw had made quick work of that one.

Taylor turned around, then raised his arms. "Seriously, you think this is too tight?"

"It is. Is this a two piece or are you getting the pieces separately? I recommend getting both pieces separately, since you need one size for the jacket and a different size on the slacks." John nodded to the fitting room. "Go ahead and get out of that one, and we'll go looking. It shouldn't be too hard to match fabrics so it doesn't look like they were purchased separately."

"I'm sure John has better things to do with his time, Taylor," Joss said quickly.

Both Taylor and John froze. "But he's right here, Mom, and he knows how to dress!" Taylor protested.

John looked at her quietly. "I don't mind, Joss. Really." Left unspoken was the implication_, as long as you don't mind._

She knew what he was thinking, as always. "I don't mind, but…I'm sure you have better things to do with your time than find a suit for a school dance."

"If I had anything else to do, Joss, I wouldn't be here," he said quietly. "I don't mind. And you do seem…a little out of your depth here."

She looked at him, and he could see indecision in her eyes. And then Taylor said, in very firm, unchildlike tone, "John's going to help me find a suit and then we'll go home to dinner."

Joss threw up her hands. "Okay. Fine. I think I'm outvoted."

"Yes!" Taylor grinned, made a fist, held it out to John.

John didn't even have to think; he bumped fists with the boy, then stood beside Joss as Taylor vanished back into the fitting room. "So he really didn't want to do this with his father?"

"I'm trying not to bias him against Paul. He just…doesn't like his father much."

It wasn't John's place to say what he was actually thinking—which was that Paul didn't really seen to care much about Taylor, and that was probably a good part of the reason why Taylor didn't care much for Paul—but he bit down on those words and said, instead, "Maybe. But I don't mind helping him. Or you. Both of you."

Taylor rejoined them a moment later carrying the suit he'd just taken off. "Let me go put this back where I found it."

"You could just leave it in the dressing room. They'll put it back," John said.

Taylor shook his head. "Mom said I should always put stuff back where I found it." And he bounced off down the aisles back toward the men's suits.

He looked at Joss, trying to hide a grin. "Raised a good boy there, Joss."

"Nah, he did that on his own. He's a good kid."

"No one does anything on their own. He's got a great mother." And he grinned wider at her as her face flushed a bright pink. He liked that pink…

He cleared his throat, forced himself to think about something else. After the events of the last year, Joss needed time to settle and come to grips with everything that had happened to her, and he didn't want to set her emotional and mental recovery by asking her for something she wasn't ready for. He didn't want her to have sex with him because she felt he demanded it-doing so would cause mental and emotional harm, possibly irreparable. He'd learned his lesson over the last year; pay attention to what she wanted and needed, to what her body was telling him. And right now, although she was at the point where she didn't mind him in her personal space, he wasn't getting any signal from her that she was ready for...that. And he wasn't going to even think about it until she was ready. "So what occasion is this we're trying to find a suit for?"

"Valentine's dance at his school. Just a little thing in a school gym."

"When I was his age I didn't have the nerve to ask out the girl I wanted to go with. I ended up going with a bunch of my friends—and she came with a bunch of her girl friends. We still spent the evening together."

"John Reese, didn't have the nerve to ask a girl out? Now I've heard it all." But Joss's smile was warm. "No, according to him, you told him how to ask her out."

"Mea culpa." But John didn't sound all that contrite.

"He also said you told her to ask her parents instead of her Aunt and Uncle."

John grinned and refused to look abashed. "I did. And apparently it worked."

"It did. Taylor told her what you said, she emailed her Dad and Mom and asked them if she could go to the school dance—and they said yes, so her aunt and uncle couldn't say no."

"Good. He's got sense enough to take advice when he asks for it. So what do you think?"

"I haven't met her yet. Taylor told me her parents live overseas. They sent her to the US to live with her uncle and aunt—her mother's older sister and brother-in law—while she goes to school here, but he says her Uncle and Aunt are very conservative Hindu and she's not really allowed to date. I still want to meet her."

"I saw her. At the school when I picked him up not that long ago. The day they got yearbooks. They signed each others' yearbooks. I got the impression of a shy bookworm, but she was pretty, and she was polite. I liked her better than those blond cheerleaders trying to catch Taylor's attention."

"Kylie? Blond, supermodel-type?" John nodded, and Joss snorted. "He brought her home to meet me his freshman year in high school. I didn't like her then."

"She's pretty but from what I saw, shoving other girls around for no reason other than spite, she hasn't changed in the last couple of years. I don't wonder Taylor decided he doesn't like her. This other girl he asked out doesn't seem like that type, and Taylor also knows you don't like Kylie. Trust Taylor. He knows the difference between right and wrong, and he knows he'll answer to you if his choice of friends leads him astray. He loves you and he doesn't want to disappoint you." John was certain of that.

"Is that why you and Taylor never told me what happened with Tommy Washington?"

He sighed. "Yes, Joss, it is. You have a lot of things to worry about, and Taylor and I don't want you to worry about something we've already handled."

"Are you two going to tell me eventually?"

John was spared from answering that question as Taylor bounced up. "Okay. I put that one back. Let's go find a suit."

"This store isn't the best one. There's another on a few doors down the mall that's a bit better." John started walking, and Taylor and Joss fell in beside him. She didn't bring up the subject of Tommy Washington; he knew she was thinking about it, but she apparently decided to let him and Taylor keep their secret.

He smiled at her as they left that store and started heading down the mall concourse. He'd never liked shopping. Go in, grab what he needed and run, that was how he approached the miserable task of shopping; but with Joss and Taylor, he was suddenly realizing he didn't mind this as much as he thought he would. He shortened his strides to match theirs, stopping when they stopped. And so he found himself smiling when Joss stopped next to a large store window, with a mannequin displaying a truly lovely black formal gown. "Been a long time since I could go somewhere where I could get dressed up," and she sighed. "I mean, I wouldn't want to do that every night, but just once I'd love to be able to get dressed up." She looked at John, her eyes sparkling but with a slightly wistful look, and he heard the words she was thinking but hadn't spoken; _with you_.

He looked at the dress. Black. Velvet. A sheath dress; it would cling to Joss's curves, accentuate her waist and her chest. And yes, he _would_ love to see her dressed up. A flash of memory—Lionel taking Joss to the Policeman's Ball soon after they'd moved to the new apartment—and at the time he'd thought he wanted to go somewhere nice with her. On a date.

The way she was looking at the dress, maybe she was ready to go on a date with him again. No sex; not this soon after… it had only been three months. But a quiet dinner—not at Ettienne's, this time, because as much as he and Joss both liked the place, he'd seen so many nice restaurants in New York, in his travels, and yet he'd never taken Joss to any of them. An oversight he'd have to correct. Soon.


	3. Chapter 3: Ruse

**Chapter 3: Ruse**

Joss looked wistfully at the dress. She used to think she hated getting dressed up, but that dress was truly gorgeous, and she wished she had somewhere to wear something like that. And…she sneaked a peek at John's reflection in the store window. He probably hated events like that, but he was handsome and he'd really, really look good in formal evening wear…

She was interrupted when Taylor suddenly shot past both of them and ran into the dress shop. John peeked inside the window—at the far end of the store, a young girl was looking at dresses; she turned when Taylor tapped her shoulder. The smile of recognition that crossed her face needed no explanation.

Moments later the girl was following Taylor out of the store, heading toward them, and Joss couldn't help but smile. Long, thick black hair was pulled back in a braid hanging down her back, dark wire-rimmed glasses framed wide, innocent brown eyes, and her smile was shy but pretty. Her skin was several shades darker than John's, though not as dark as hers or Taylor's; but as Taylor walked up to her, beaming, she saw the texture of the girl's hair and the question was solved. This must be the half-Indian girl Taylor had asked to the Valentine's dance.

And the first words out of Taylor's mouth confirmed it. "Mom! This is Emilia. She's the girl I asked out to the dance. Lia, this is my mom."

The girl grinned at Taylor and held out a hand. "Hi, Taylor's Mom," she said as she shook Joss's hand.

Joss laughed aloud. "Ms. Carter will be fine. Nice to meet you." She shook the girl's hand. "So is it Lia or Emilia?"

"My name's Emilia, but Lia's a bit easier," she said with no trace of an accent. "Dad's Italian, Mom's Indian. Dad fell in love and took a permanent posting to the Italian embassy to be with Mom and they got married there. They sent me here to live with Mom's sister—Aunt Savita and her husband, Uncle Avi—while I went to school. I was having a little trouble in my chemistry class earlier this year and I signed up for tutoring, and our chemistry teacher Mrs. Hewlett recommended Taylor."

"That's not how it went." Taylor rolled his eyes. "I was having problems in English Lit class and Lia tutored me. Mrs. Hewlett told me that Lia was having trouble in chemistry and suggested we tutor each other. That's how we met."

"Well, then if you're going to be that completely honest, then Kylie was picking me and Taylor made her stop." Lia folded her arms and glared at Taylor.

Joss couldn't completely stifle her giggles; beside her, John was fighting to keep a straight face too. "Okay, so are you here looking for a dress for the dance?" she finally managed.

"Yeah." Emilia blushed—and the rosy glow on her olive cheeks made her look suddenly charmingly pretty. "Dad and Mom both said yes, and Dad even sent me a prepaid gift card with money to buy a dress and jewelry and stuff, but Aunt Savi said she didn't approve of my going to a dance and she wouldn't take me shopping. And I sorta don't have any girl friends to go with."

"So you're shopping by yourself?"Out the corner of her eyes, Joss saw John roll his eyes. She knew he knew what she was thinking; she didn't have to say a word.

Lia shrugged. "Yeah. I guess. It's just that the other girls at school want to talk about boys and clothes and I don't really fit in. And Aunt Savi's really traditional Hindu and they don't approve of dating. But since Dad and Mom said I can go, they couldn't say no. So I didn't really have anyone to go shopping with."

"They're just going to make it harder for you to go." Joss nodded, then turned to John—and she knew he realized he was in trouble when she turned to him. "John, why don't you and Taylor go shopping for a suit—I don't know much about guys' clothes anyway—and I'll take Lia looking for a dress."

Lia's eyes widened. "Oh, no—I don't want to be any bother, Ms. Carter, really…"

"You won't be a bother," Joss said cheerfully. "I don't know much about guys' clothes anyway. I'd just be a third wheel." Without waiting for John to say yes, she steered Lia back toward the front door of the store. "You fellas just call me when you're done, you have my number, John," she tossed back over her shoulder as she steered Lia into the dress shop. Behind her, she faintly heard Taylor's surprised exclamation. "Holy cow. Did my mother just take _my_ girlfriend shopping? And leave me with _her_ boyfriend?"

_Yep, that's exactly what I did. You and John like spending time together anyway._ And she loved seeing the two of them together. _I wish life had been a little kinder to John—he would have made a wonderful father._ An impression borne out by John's next words faintly heard behind her as she and Lia walked away together. "Come on, Taylor. Let's go get you a suit and then we can check out the new video games until your Mom and Lia get done. It'll take us less time to find a suit than it will for the girls to find a dress."

_Yeah, he would have been a great Dad._

* * *

Alone in the Library, Harold was chuckling to himself as he dug around in his papers; Sam stared at him suspiciously as she walked into the Library and heard him laughing. "You're acting weird, Harold. Even for you."

Harold paused in the act of shuffling papers around on his desk. "I've been puzzling over the problem of what to get two of my best friends for Valentine's Day. I believe I have a solution…if I can find it…" He returned to digging through his desk for papers. "Here it is."

Sam snatched the paper from his hand. "Nice paper."

"It's a linen-cotton blend, very expensive. The law firm who uses this paper likes to make an impression."

"I'll say." She scanned it. "Harold, are you serious?"

"It's perfect. This firm is one which I already employ to handle assorted business matters, so after a brief introduction as my business partner, John and Joss should be free to enjoy their evening together without further interruption." Harold couldn't stop smiling.

Sam handed it back. "John's going to kill you. He hates getting dressed up."

"Somehow I doubt Mr. Reese will mind getting dressed for the occasion when his backup will be similarly dressed. Very elegantly so. And if I phrase the invitation correctly he'll have no choice but to agree to go."

Sam put her hands on her hips. "Harold. You're not seriously going to tell them they're there to check out a number? John will be packing when he walks in."

"Mr. Reese is always armed. No matter where he goes. I hardly think that carrying a gun will in any way hamper his enjoyment of the evening." He sat down in front of the computer, opened a connection to John's phone. "Mr. Reese?"

At the mall, John checked on Taylor—the boy was looking at the next rack of pants over—then slipped his phone out of his pocket. "I'm a little busy at the moment, Finch."

"I understand that, but the Machine doesn't seem to understand that. It's given us a new number. I don't believe it's that urgent—you should finish your business—but as your phone's tracker currently shows you at the mall, perhaps, while you're there, you could pick up some black tie formal wear."

"I don't like formal occasions, Finch."

"I realize that, Mr. Reese, but this may be the only time to get close. Our target's name is Candice Olivera, and she's an executive from the California branch of the law firm James & Rowell." John recognized the name—he'd seen it on a couple of Finch's business papers. "She'll be coming into New York for the firm's annual business mixer tomorrow night and then leaving immediately after, so whatever the danger is that she's facing, it is likely going to be at this mixer. I've secured an invitation and would like you to be present." And then, with seeming casualness, Harold added, "If Detective Carter is not busy, perhaps you might consider bringing her along as backup. Just in case."

John understood a few things in that moment. One was that there wasn't really a number; every time the Machine gave them a number, it was urgent. Two, Harold had been listening in on their conversation and knew full well what he was doing here at the mall on a Friday afternoon; and Harold also had heard Joss's words and was, in his own way, trying to give them a Valentine's Day gift.

But that didn't mean he wasn't going to play along with Harold's ruse. "All right. I'll pick up something while I'm here. And I'll let Joss know."

He hung up with Harold, and met Taylor's eyes. "Are you taking Mom out tomorrow night?"

John had to fight the grin. "I think so. If your Mom says yes. Are you gonna be okay with that?" He held his breath. As much as he hated formal dress occasions, seeing Joss in that dress she'd been staring at in the shop window would be… an experience. An experience he didn't want to miss. There'd been a few times, when he was with Jessica, when they'd had an opportunity to attend a formal event—usually a military function, and he'd been able to skip the tiresome task of shopping for something to wear by simply wearing his dress uniform. And he'd taken an almost overwhelming masculine pride at having a beautiful woman on his arm.

Now…well, he would have to endure the miserable, disgusting task of actually trying to find something to wear, but he'd again have a beautiful woman on his arm. Jocelyn Carter. One of the most beautiful people he'd ever met. Jessica had been physically pretty; but Joss had an inner fire, an inner strength to her that shone out in her eyes and transcended something as mundane as physical beauty. Whatever it was she had—he wasn't going to try to define it, wasn't sure he could—it rendered physical beauty insignificant. She attracted him in ways even Jessica hadn't, drew him in even against his will. He'd felt, early on when he'd met her—when he'd first realized he was attracted to her in ways that had nothing to do with their respective jobs and everything to do with her as a fellow human being and, more importantly, as a woman—that he'd felt vaguely as if he was betraying Jessica's memory.

But she was so different from Jessica, and he was attracted to her in such a drastically different way than he'd been attracted to Jessica, that in the end it wasn't really that hard to look past that and just enjoy being with her. He knew, right now, that she wasn't ready to resume the physical side of their relationship, not after what had happened with Walker and her vendetta against HR—hell, if he'd been her he wouldn't ever let anyone touch him again—but he didn't have to have sex with her to enjoy being with her. There was so much more to their relationship than just the physical.

"I have no problem with that. You'll keep Mom safe just like you kept me safe. And," Taylor grinned mischievously, "If she's busy with you, she won't be watching the clock waiting to jump on me for missing curfew."

"Hey. You still need to be home when your mother wants you to be, okay?" John reminded the boy sharply. "When is your school dance over?"

"Ten. But I was hoping maybe me and Lia and a couple of our friends could grab something to eat and be home at midnight. It's Saturday night, I don't have to be at school on Sunday, I can sleep in, and Mom knows the friends I want to hang with after the dance so she won't be too worried that I'll get in trouble."

John made a quick decision. "I can keep your Mom occupied so she won't be counting the minutes, but I expect you to keep your end of the bargain. If you get in trouble or one of your friends wants you to do something that you know your Mom won't approve, part ways and we'll come pick you up. Or I'll come pick you up."

"You got it. Oh, and John? How about stopping the whole 'your mother' business and just call her Mom? Cause she's kind of your Mom too."

John looked sharply at Taylor. There was something in the boy's eyes-uncertainty, but maybe a bit of hope?-that made him say finally, "You don't mind?"

Taylor grinned a little and rolled his eyes. "No, I don't. If I did I wouldn't be asking. Duh." A moment's pause, then, too casually, "I wouldn't mind if you asked Mom to marry you."

John stared at him."Taylor..."

"I mean, not now. Too much stuff has happened. But later." He swallowed hard, looked John in the eye, and John read concern for his mother in those innocent brown eyes. "You make her really happy. She laughs more with you. She was never that happy with my Dad. And she makes you happy too. And you both love each other, more than my Dad ever loved Mom. I don't see why you can't."

John sighed-this whole conversation was reminding him of his secret dream of being able to ask Joss to marry him. He knew without a doubt that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, making her life better, making her happy. With her, he finally felt like a whole person, felt like he was valued and loved. With her he could finally be himself. "It's complicated, Taylor. Right now, though, Mom's not ready for it-too much has happened in the last year. We'll have to see, okay?"

Taylor grinned. "Okay. As long as you're considering it." The boy turned back to the racks, looking at pants, and John dialed Joss's phone.

* * *

"Hey. Are you guys done already?" Joss answered her phone. "I mean, I know guys are fast, but I didn't think you were going to be that fast."

"No, we aren't done yet. Harold called. We got a number."

"Oh no. Let me come and get Taylor—" she started reaching for her purse.

"No. Harold said it wasn't that urgent. The number is on a plane here to attend a business mixer at her law firm here in New York tomorrow night. Harold asked me to attend."

A number? That wasn't urgent? Joss grinned at the phone, knowing he couldn't see it. She'd been working with the guys for a long time, and they still underestimated her. Like now. There was never, ever a time when they got a number and it wasn't urgent. But she'd been thinking aloud when she had seen that dress in the window, and although she hadn't thought about it at the time, she'd bet her pension that Harold had heard it…and so had John, and the two of them were now teaming up to give her a Valentine's Day surprise.

Okay, she'd play along. "So we have time to finish up here?"

"Yes, we do. But…while you're picking a dress for Taylor's girlfriend, pick something up for yourself, because you're attending that formal business mixer with me." Yep. If she hadn't been sure before, she sure as hell was certain now. John had told her, once, that he hated formal occasions.

"I'll do that. I'll call you when we're done." She was grinning as she got up and tapped on the dressing room door. "You doing okay, Lia?"

"Yeah. This last one's a bit tricky to get out of. The ribbons across the back keep catching on my braid." A moment of silence. "Okay. I think I got it."

A moment later the door opened and Lia came out holding three dresses on hangers over one arm and another on a hanger in her other. "I really like this one, Ms. Carter."

Joss looked it over critically. When they'd first started looking at dresses, the salesgirl had pointed them in the direction of a rack with some popular styles, and Joss had found herself mildly shocked by some of them. Plunging necklines, barely-there skirts, some with so little fabric they didn't even qualify as a dress to her. One even looked a little like the dress Zoe had worn to Blur the night she, Shaw and Joss herself had gone undercover—but what was appropriate for an adult woman going to an adult club, like Blur, would be wildly inappropriate for a seventeen-year-old going to a simple high school dance . "I don't really like these," Lia finally said, sounding frustrated. "I want something nice, and these show too much skin. Dad and Mom said they want me to take a picture in the dress I finally choose and I don't want them to see me in something that looks like this. These are… indecent."

Joss breathed a sigh of relief. "Good, because if you tried to pick one of these I would have tried to talk you out of it. I don't like these either—I wouldn't want any daughter of mine going out in public wearing any of those. So…what do you want?"

"I have ugly knees." Lia turned pink as Joss giggled. "I don't want anything that shows my knees. And I don't want my chest or back showing either. But I don't want a long-sleeved dress, it'll be hot in the gym."

Joss led the way to the mid-length racks and they finally selected four that they both liked. Tea-length, all of them; not too long, because this wasn't a formal school dance, but not too short that Lia was uncomfortable with her knees showing. Lia didn't like pink, and that color didn't work with her skin tone either; they eventually settled on two tank dresses with flowing chiffon skirts, one in teal and one in lilac; another scoop-necked dress with ribbons that criss-crossed the back in a lattice pattern with a shin-length skirt in a champagne color, and the last one, a v-neck with an empire waist and a modest tea-length skirt in sapphire satin. And it was the sapphire one that Lia was holding up now. "I really liked this one."

Joss nodded as she whipped out her cellphone and took a quick picture of the dress, then sent it to a number she had on speed-dial on her phone. "I did too. It's modest, it covers everything you wanted covered, but it's still pretty and fairly modern. It doesn't look like you're wearing your grandmother's dress."

"And I can afford it with what's on the card Dad sent me." Lia looked pleased. "And there's just enough left to get a pair of shoes."

"Good. Now, there's a favor I want to ask you. Can you help me pick out a dress? John just called, there's a business mixer his…boss…wants him to attend tomorrow, and he wants me to come along. So now _I_ need a dress."

Lia grinned. "This is neat. It's like when I was young, shopping with my Mom. Taylor's real lucky to have you."

"I'm lucky to have him." Although, shopping with Lia had reminded her of a long-ago wish to have a daughter. She would have liked to have a girl to do...girl things, like dress shopping…with. "All right. I already saw a dress that I liked, I'll go get it and we can see how it looks."


	4. Chapter 4: Girl Secrets

**Chapter 4: Girl Secrets**

It was the same dress that she'd seen on the mannequin in the shop window, just in her size. A sheath style that hugged her curves in all the right places and gave her a nice hourglass figure, it had a high neck with a white chiffon cowl that came to just under her collarbone. The ends of the scarf that formed the cowl was caught at the shoulder with rhinestone pins, then followed the plunging backline until it stopped in the middle of her lower back. A rhinestone ornament snugged the white cowl ends at the base of her spine, and then a white chiffon train swept downward and behind her for a bare half-step. Not long enough to hamper movement, but long enough to be elegant.

"What do you think?" she said finally to Lia as she came out of the dressing room wearing the dress.

"It's gorgeous. I don't see how he could _not_ like the dress." Lia smiled. "You're so pretty. I wish I were that pretty."

"You're pretty enough to catch my son's attention. That's an achievement," Joss grinned. "All right, let me get out of this, and then we'll go looking for shoes." She had formal heels in her closet that she could wear with this dress, but Lia needed some.

And shoe shopping was another adventure. Joss discovered that Lia was most comfortable in sneakers or flat boots, and had never worn a pair of heels in her life. She also discovered that the fashion for skyscraper heels seemed to have permeated the juniors department, and even she would have been uncomfortable going to a school dance wearing them. "I don't think we're going to find anything that works," Lia sighed finally, despondent.

"Oh, hi, Lia!" and suddenly there was another girl standing in front of Joss and Lia where they sat on chairs in the shoe store. "Getting shoes for the dance?"

"Hi, Kylie," Lia said, but there was no warmth in her voice, and Joss remembered what Lia had said_. Kylie was picking on me and Taylor made her stop._

"Getting shoes for the dance?" Kylie's smile was bright, but Joss didn't like it; it felt false, and there was a lurking meanness in the back of the other girl's eyes. She hadn't liked Kylie Whistler when Taylor had first introduced her to Joss as his date to the freshman prom three years ago, and that dislike hadn't changed.

"Don't look so sad, Lia. You're not cut out to look like the rest of us, so you shouldn't try to be something you're not. Just wear those flats you usually wear. They'll be fine, it's not like anyone's actually going to ask you to dance." Kylie gave Lia a condescending pat on the shoulder. "Gotta run. See you tomorrow night." And she bounced off.

"I don't know what Taylor ever saw in her," Joss said quickly, shaking her head, pretending not to notice the hurt look in Lia's eyes.

"Kylie can be really nice when she wants to be. But if she doesn't see a need to be nice, she won't." Lia sighed. "Taylor and I are both juniors this year. She's a senior and she's graduating this spring so she won't be in school next year. But three years ago when Taylor asked her out, she said yes because she'd gotten into trouble a couple of times for drinking and driving. She found out you were a cop and that's why she hooked up with Taylor, hoping to get in his good graces so if she got in trouble again she could use you to get her out of it. Then Taylor told her you were a homicide detective, and she dropped him. Didn't want to have anything to do with him. He found out really quickly why she did that—and he hasn't liked her since."

Manipulative. Yep, there had to be a reason why she hadn't liked the blond girl at their first meeting. "You said earlier that Kylie was picking on you and Taylor made her stop."

Lia grinned. "Yeah, he did. Aunt Savi came to pick me up from school one day and Kylie saw her in her sari—the traditional clothing for Indian women. She started calling me the 'Untouchable' after that, and when she learned that the Hindu people don't eat beef, she got into my locker one day and stuffed it full of frozen raw beef. As it thawed in my locker it got blood all over everything and when I opened my locker at the end of the day all this stinking raw meat fell out. It was _so_ gross." She shuddered.

Joss could empathize completely.

"Everything in my locker was ruined. Everything had to be thrown out. I had to work out a payment arrangement with the library to pay for the library books that got ruined; the librarian wanted me to have Aunt Savi lodge a complaint against Kylie's parents and get them to pay for the spoiled books, but I didn't even bother; Aunt Savi doesn't really speak much English, and Uncle Avi doesn't get involved in any of my school affairs. I gave them my lunch money for three months and spent my lunch periods in the library."

"Are those books paid off?" _She_ _shouldn't have to go a whole day without lunch. _Lia was already on the 'skinny' side of 'slim', to Joss.

"Yeah, this was back in our sophomore year—last year. Then Kylie got her new boyfriend, one of the football players, to stop me on my way into the cafeteria and take my lunch money. I…don't like Steve Woods, he's also on the wrestling team and he's mean. I was scared of him so I just gave it to him. Taylor found out one day—it was right after we'd started tutoring each other—he saw Steve stop me in the hall and grab my hair and pull on it until I gave him my money—and he stopped Steve and told Steve to give me my money back. Steve turned and tried to punch him. Taylor got mad and swung back and we all ended up in the principal's office for fighting. Aunt Savi was really, really mad and told Uncle Avi, and I got in trouble. And Taylor said they called you, and he got in trouble with you for fighting."

Joss shook her head. "Taylor wouldn't tell me why he took a swing at that other boy. I grounded him. Took away his video games for a week. If he'd told me this was why, I wouldn't have been mad at him. I'm gonna have a little talk with him about being honest with me." She frowned as Lia leaned over to unbuckle the strap on the shoe she'd just tried on. "But this wasn't your fault, so why did you get in trouble?"

"Because Uncle Avi said a good girl wouldn't have attracted the wrong kind of attention like that, and I'd disgraced the family and myself by getting into an altercation with a boy. There's this whole mindset where males are superior and women are inferior and we're just supposed to give into them and let them have what they want. It's not fair." She put the shoe she'd just unbuckled back into the shoebox with a little more force than necessary.

"It wasn't your fault, Lia," Joss said. "Don't think that. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I know. It's just really hard to remember that sometimes when I'm constantly being told that nothing I do is what a good girl does."

There was so much unhappiness in Lia's voice. Joss found her instincts pricking her. "Have you told your Dad and Mom that you're not happy with your Aunt and Uncle?" she said casually as she helped pack up another pair of rejected shoes back in their box.

"I don't want to worry Mom and Dad. It's bad enough that Mom has to worry about her work and Dad has his job in diplomatic security."

_Meaning she hasn't told them she's not happy._ Joss could read between the lines. _Well, it's not my place to tell them, but at least I can let her know someone cares._ "I know you have Taylor's cell phone number, but here's mine, too. If you need help or someone to talk to, we're right here. And no, you won't be a bother. Here. I want you to have this." She pressed her card into Lia's hand.

"Thanks, Ms. Carter." Lia smiled as she carefully slipped it into her pocket.

"All right. We still have to find shoes..."

But Lia shook her head. "I think I'll be fine. Kylie's right, it's not like anyone's going to ask me to dance. Taylor isn't really the kind—I don't think he even knows how to—so I have a pair of flats I can wear." She stood. "It was really nice meeting you, and the whole afternoon's been a lot of fun. Thank you."

Joss leaned in, impulsively, and gave her a hug back. "You're welcome. Let's do this again, okay? Maybe when Taylor asks you out to prom."

"Really?" Lia's wide-eyed eagerness touched her. "You really think he's going to ask me? I mean, I know it's tradition and all, but well…no one's ever asked me, so I've never gone. The first year we were at school, he asked Kylie."

"Yeah, I met her and I didn't like her. I was glad when he told me he stopped hanging out with her," Joss said.

"Taylor's one of the cutest boys in school. Everyone likes him," Lia blushed pink as Joss chuckled. "Well, they do. And then all the stuff that happened this year, with him being shot and then you being kidnapped—it was all over the news—he suddenly became a celebrity. Everybody wanted to sit with him at lunch and talk to him…I thought he'd forget me, but then one day he turned up at the library and sat with me and he told me he was tired of people chasing him and he just wanted some peace and quiet. He was tired of telling everyone the story again, so I never asked what really happened—we talk about everything else, normal school stuff, instead. I think that makes him happier."

Joss regarded Lia with a bit of surprise. "I never knew that everything that happened had created all that fuss at school," she said, shaking her head. "It never occurred to me."

"I shouldn't have even mentioned it. Taylor said he wasn't telling you about school because he didn't want you to worry about what was going on—he said he could handle it without making you worry. He's really considerate."

"Well, since he didn't want me to know, let's not tell him that I know. Let him keep thinking he has secrets."

Lia grinned at her and nodded. "Um...does that mean we have secrets now too?" she said hesitantly.

Joss smiled at her. "Yes, it does."

And Lia smiled, a big, wide, happy smile Joss hadn't seen on her face yet. "Cool."

"But you can't tell the boys that we have secrets, see?"

"Yeah, I know. Mom and I had secrets from Dad, and Dad and I had secrets from Mom. Little things like this, not big things. You sorta remind me a lot of my Mom." Then she thought. "Maybe not. Not really. Kind of like a cool big sister."

Hadn't Taylor described John as a 'really cool big brother'? Joss couldn't help but smile at the thought. "Okay. So come on, little sister, we have to find shoes for my dress. And you do need some jewelry."

"I don't, really, no one's going to really look at me…" Lia started.

Joss shook her head. "But this is your first dance. With a boy. You want to look nice. And if we pick something neutral, whatever we get now will also work with your prom dress—and you will want jewelry for that."

"I just don't want to spend too much," Lia sighed. "I mean, Dad sent me this gift card to buy a dress for the dance with, but I haven't gotten his answer back about Junior Prom yet and I don't know if he's going to say it's okay for me to go. I'm working extra hard so my next report card will say all A's so he'll let me go—but if he doesn't send me money to get another dress, I can't ask Aunt Savi for money because she'll refuse. And I like this dress, but I really don't think this is going to be right for a prom."

"No, it isn't." Joss nodded. "For a prom you're going to want something long, a formal-length gown. This dress you have here is shorter—what we adults call a cocktail dress. Cocktail dresses would normally be appropriate for evening business mixers or nice social events—concerts, operas, and the like. Long gowns are for events that will last into the night—ten or eleven at least."

Lia was listening interestedly. "I never knew that. So that's why Mom always wore long gowns when she and Dad went to diplomatic functions where they had to get an ayah—a babysitter or nurse—for me in the evening?"

"Yes. Your Mom probably wore dark colors, simple dresses with subtle decoration and clean lines?" Lia nodded. "That's appropriate for something business or work related. For a prom, you have a little more leeway, but I still don't recommend that you get a ball gown with a very full skirt, if only because it'll get in your way and people will be tripping over it. And flats are fine now for a Valentines dance, but you are going to want to get heels and jewelry for a prom dress."

She stopped at a rack of teen magazines. As it was close to prom season, the fashion magazines were showcasing the latest dresses from popular designers in their pages, devoting entire special issues to color photos of various dress styles. She selected three of them, then as she was paying for her dress, she added the magazines to her purchase.

Once they were away from the registers and heading for a store a little further down the mall concourse that featured rhinestone and costume jewelry for girls, she handed the magazines to Lia. "Here. Start by looking through these, they'll give you a general idea what's popular and what prices look like. When you have a chance, do some looking on the internet also. Your Dad might be more willing to give you money for a dress if he knows what you're looking at and how much it'll cost. And you can look for some shoes too, see what's popular."

"Thanks, Ms. Carter," Lia hugged the magazines to her chest. "I really, really appreciate this."

"Don't mention it. Happy to help you out. I love Taylor, I can't imagine life without him, but there was a time when I hoped I'd have a daughter to do girl things with, like shopping for clothes and jewelry. And speaking of which…you do need some makeup too. And do you have any idea what you're going to want to do with your hair?"

"No makeup. Aunt Savi will kill me. She doesn't approve." Lia said quickly. "I haven't decided what to do with my hair, though; I'll probably just wear it in a braid like I usually do."

"You have really pretty hair, and you should let it down. Guys like long pretty hair."

"Yeah. Steve Woods liked pulling on my hair." The bitterness in Lia's voice reminded Joss of the problems she was having at school. "Aunt Savi says a good Hindu girl should have long hair for modesty, but she also said that it should be pulled back from the face and not worn loose. So I usually just have it in a braid or a bun. It's easier to keep out of the way when I'm studying, anyway." She shrugged.

"Well, then let's see what we can find." They spent a while browsing through the store. Joss saw a rhinestone tiara with blue accents that would have looked beautiful against Lia's dark hair, but mindful that the jewelry and hair ornaments chosen would have to work with whatever prom dress Lia chose later—she couldn't imagine Lia's father saying no, especially if his daughter sent him a report card with straight A's—they eventually decided on a choker and bracelet with star-shaped rhinestones, and a matching set of clear rhinestone pins that had more star-shaped clear rhinestones on long black ribbons. "See, when you pull your hair back in a bun, the black ribbons won't show up in your hair, but the rhinestones will. You'll look like you have stars in your hair." She'd look lovely. "All right, Hair, shoes, jewelry, dress. Think we covered all the bases." She'd been surprised to find Lia's ears weren't pierced, but she would have to have parent or guardian permission for that, so they settled for clip-ons; and Lia firmly declined makeup, even though Joss tried to talk her into some lightly-tinted lip gloss.

But as Joss said goodbye to Lia in front of the mall, watched her get on a bus before digging her phone out and calling her boys, who no doubt had finished their shopping by now, she decided she did like the girl and she didn't mind Taylor going out to the dance with her.


	5. Chapter 5: Lesson

**Chapter 5: Lesson**

_Author's Note: This chapter was inspired by 'After All' sung by Peter Cetera and Cher._

"You _are_ going to ask her to prom, right?"

Taylor rolled his eyes at her from across the dinner table. "Yes, Mom. It's kind of an unspoken tradition that the girl who goes with you to the Valentine's dance is the same one you take to prom. It's sort of a subtle sign to everyone who your girl is and who your guy is and that helps you not ask someone who's already got a date."

John shook his head. "School's gotten a lot more complicated than when I was in school," she said as he ate another bite of the chicken and broccoli Joss had cooked—because John and Taylor had been busy trying on the suits they'd bought. John had been explaining the finer points of how a suit should fit, and Joss had bowed out of that conversation (with some relief) and did the cooking as she listened to her boys talk.

"Not really. You just have to know who's who." Taylor speared a clump of broccoli with his fork. "So, Mom, you and John are going out to some formal thing tomorrow night to help someone?"

"Yes." She was about to tell John that she knew it wasn't a number, but she bit her tongue on it. Let him and Harold think they were getting one over on her; she was definitely looking forward to getting dressed up and going out with John. To deflect him, she said, "You never told me that when you got in trouble for fighting with Steve Wood last year it was because he was picking on Lia."

"She told you about that?" Joss nodded. "Yeah, I figured she might. Even though we both promised we'd never talk about it again."

"Taylor, why didn't you tell me that you weren't picking a fight with Steve, you were defending Lia? I wouldn't have gotten mad at you. Not for that. I'm proud of you for sticking up for someone who couldn't defend herself."

Taylor looked down at his plate and shrugged, although the blush on his cheeks told her he was pleased that she'd said she was proud of him. "Lia and I both decided that we weren't going to talk about it. She got in a lot of trouble with her Aunt and Uncle for fighting—it would have been even worse if they'd seen her backed up against the locker with Steve's fist in her hair. They didn't look at it as Steve's fault for being a bully, all they could see was that she let a boy touch her." And now Taylor looked serious. "I don't know what really happened, but she was walking sort of stiffly for a couple of days. She tried to say her back hurt from when Steve shoved her into the locker and her spine hit a locker lock, but I don't know if I believe her."

John frowned. "You think they hurt her?" There was an edge in his voice.

Taylor must not have noticed it, because he never looked up from his plate. "I don't know. She wouldn't say."

John and Joss shared significant glances across the table. Joss could see John was just as worried—and angry—at the thought of Lia being hurt as she herself was. "The next time you see her look like that or act like that, Taylor, let me know. I can talk to her when I come to pick you up from school." No way was a seventeen year old girl going to be able to withhold information that Military Intelligence Analyst Warrant Officer Jocelyn Carter wanted. And no way was she going to stand by and watch a sweet child like Lia be abused.

"You done?" John asked as Taylor put his fork down on his empty plate and started to stand.

"Yeah. Why?"

John grinned. "Well, Kylie told Lia that no one would ask her to dance. I thought we'd prove her wrong."

"You can dance?" from Taylor and Joss both at once.

"I don't often. But yes, I can. Never give a weapon to a man who can't dance. Old Chinese saying." John wiped his mouth with a napkin and put his own empty plate in the sink. "Okay. Let's go to the living room, and we can move the coffee table out of the way."

With Taylor sitting on the couch, wide-eyed, John stood in the center of the room, Joss facing him. He turned the radio to a random music station that was playing something slow. "All right. One hand goes around your partner's waist here," and he rested his right hand on the delicate inward curve of Joss's waist, "and with your other you take her hand." His fingers twined with hers, her smaller hand almost disappearing into his, her fingers and grip warm and sure and trusting. "Now, I'll take a step to the right with my right foot, my left one will follow. And I'll take Mom with me." He took that step, and Joss followed him. "Now, press backward gently on her hand, that indicates she takes the lead and steps back." He did, and Joss obligingly took a step backward. "Now she steps to the left, and I'll follow her." Action suited word. "Then she presses back on my hand, and I take a step back, and we basically end up right where we started. It's very basic, very simple, you're moving in a square. Let me demonstrate." And he stopped speaking as his body flowed next to Joss's in the steps of the dance.

He didn't dance often. Jessica had taught him to dance, and he'd liked dancing with her. And when he'd lost her, he'd avoided any thought, any occasion, where he might have to because the memory hurt too much. He'd only danced with two women in his adult life—Jessica and Zoe. He hated dancing with Zoe because despite knowing the steps and knowing her, he'd still ended up stepping all over her feet and then he felt clumsy and awkward.

But dancing with Joss didn't feel like that at all. He didn't even need to think. His body moved with hers, beside hers, and he didn't have to think. Just feel. Feel the warmth of her hand in his, her waist under the curve of his other hand; the gentle pressure of her hand in his and against his, indicating where she was going to step next, a gentle request for him to move with her. Her brown eyes sparkled as she looked up at him, and he knew there was an answering light in his own.

How ironic that it was going to be Valentine's Day. Despite his efforts to maintain distance between them, after what they'd been through in the last year or so, he knew he'd lost that battle. Lost to the warmth and laughter and yes, love, he saw in Joss's brown eyes; his darkness swallowed up and chased away by the light that poured out of her soul. He'd discovered over the last year that he'd gotten lost in that light—and he never wanted to look back.

* * *

She was in heaven. His hand was warm around hers. So strong, his hands were—she'd seen him punch people into unconsciousness. Break bones. But he held her hand as if she were made of eggshells, but not as if he were afraid—more as if he was protecting, sheltering, cradling her, wrapping her around with his own strength.

It was crazy. She was crazy. She was a cop, and he was a wanted man—for pity's sake, he was wanted in four countries! But even she could see that he wasn't a ruthless killer, wasn't the cold assassin that his life and his job with the CA had forced him to be. He was, at heart, simply a good man with a complicated life and history.

And Paul…oh, Paul. She'd loved him. Loved him enough to marry him, loved him enough to try and make it work, until finally she understood that despite her determination, love was a two-way street and she couldn't make it work if he wouldn't meet her in the middle. And that trying to stick it out was hurting Taylor, her precious, precious son, who she loved more than her own life, more than anything else in the world. And so she'd ripped her own heart out when she said goodbye to Paul, sacrificing what she'd thought, at the time, was her own happiness with the man she loved in favor of what her son needed.

And she'd thought she'd never love anyone the way she loved Paul. Never love anyone else again, never even physically want a man the way she'd wanted Paul. She'd never taken her maiden name back because she believed she'd never love anyone else the way she'd loved him. She'd been sure that someday he'd see the error of his ways, would come back, and they'd be able to pick up the pieces.

But when he finally did come back she'd understood that it was over. Yes, she loved him; yes, she'd still firmly believed that she would never love any man like that again. But she couldn't get back together with Paul—it wasn't going to happen. And when she'd seen him, on their second meeting after they'd set up the court-ordered visits for Taylor, with another woman on his arm, she knew that was irrevocably, finally over. And she'd resigned herself to lonely, empty nights, thrown herself into her work to avoid thinking of the other side of her bed lying empty; the spot in her life that she would have loved to have filled with a strong, wonderful man. Had told herself that she didn't need anyone but Taylor, had talked herself into being content with that.

But that was then. This was now.

She didn't know when, over the last three years, she'd started falling in love with John Reese—but she knew that's where she was now. Especially after the last year, with the mess surrounding Tony Walker and the takedown of HR. She wondered now if her relationship with Cal Beecher had been her subconscious effort to resist not getting drawn in, not being drawn into this relationship that her heart wanted. And yes, despite everything that had happened with Walker—his kidnapping and torturing John that led to her sacrificing her body in the warehouse to Walker's brutality in order to get close enough to him to kill him—she was, incredibly, feeling a stirring in her body again for John.

She'd thought, those first few days in the hospital after Walker's death when every waking moment was filled with either drugged half-consciousness or screaming pain, that she would never, ever want any man to touch her again; but talks with Liv Benson, licensed rape counselor as well as Captain of Manhattan's Special Victims Unit, had helped her recover emotionally even as her body healed physically, and she was now surprised that she was feeling a desire to have John with her, in her, again. She was acutely conscious of his hand on her waist, and a small part of her mind desperately wished Taylor wasn't here and this dance lesson would become…a different kind of dance.

She wanted it, wanted him. He wanted it. Wanted her—she could see it in his eyes as he looked down at her as they turned around the living room. And that surprised her even as a slow fire started down somewhere below her belt. It had been now nearly three months since the incident with Walker. Liv had told her it was only a matter of time; Sam had said the same thing, so she supposed she shouldn't be surprised, but she was; surprised that she was again feeling a desire for sex. With any man. And she'd been worried, initially, that after having seen her like that, used and brutalized and bleeding from Walker, that he wouldn't find her attractive anymore, that he wouldn't love her, but the naked hunger in his eyes now equaled the hunger she felt for him. They didn't have to say a word; it hung unspoken between them. Only the flick of his eyes, in Taylor's direction, betrayed that he too, knew this wasn't the time for this.

* * *

It was too bad Taylor was here. If the boy hadn't been standing there watching, he could have swept Joss off her feet, carried her to her bedroom, and made love to her. All night. Jesus, but he wanted her so much right now.

It was crazy. Completely crazy. He was a criminal. He was darkness and Death personified. He was a ruthless killer, irredeemable. After he'd lost Jessica, after her death, he'd lost himself completely. Ignored the world, his life, everything. He'd felt there was nothing left to live for, nothing else he had to do. No purpose, no reasons.

And then he'd met Joss. She was everything he wasn't. So completely the opposite of himself and who he was; light to his darkness, sunlight to his shade, warmth to his arctic cold. She'd shone her light—her simple humanity—into every corner of his soul, warming him, thawing him.

Especially his heart. He had no idea when he first knew he loved her; when he'd realized that he'd fallen in love with her. But the events of the last year had forced him to face his own feelings; and her extraordinary self-sacrifice in that dingy warehouse on Canal had proved to him that she too felt the same for him. Here, in the living room now, the feeling was so heavy in the air between them that he could almost see it, feel it. And when he looked into her eyes, he stopped moving, stopped dancing. Almost seemed to stop breathing. Because what he felt in his soul he could see shining out of her eyes. He loved her. Wanted her, wanted to be with her, wanted to be beside her. And, on a physical level that was somehow deeper than anything he'd felt before, he wanted to be in her, wanted to wipe away any and every memory that remained of what Walker had done to her, erae bad memories and replace them with good ones.

In the first few days after he'd woken up in the Guardians' medical clinic, every time he closed his eyes he saw Joss as he'd last seen her; broken, bleeding, in horrific pain from Walker's brutality. And he'd been terrified that every time he closed his eyes, that was what he'd see. It had worried him so much he'd even managed to bring himself to ask Olivia Benson about it, but she'd assured him that that, too, could fade with time and given time and love and support, those memories would fade and they'd eventually be able to enjoy being together again.

And she'd proved right. When he'd first seen Joss after they'd both been released by their respective doctors, he'd been relieved to see she was whole—and bad memories were lost in the wash of love he felt for her. He'd pushed those mental images away, concentrated on her; she'd been so fragile, those first couple of weeks, that he hadn't needed Liv's reminder of what she'd told him. _Survival after something like this is equally about what support system you have as it is about who you are. If she were still married to Paul Carter, based on what I've been able to figure out about him from what she's told me, I wouldn't give her a very good chance of complete recovery, emotional and mental, from this. But with you, there won't be a problem as long as you stay completely committed to her. _He hadn't had a choice about the commitment—he could no more break away from her now than he could stop breathing. She was now an intrinsic part of him, and he knew that as the world stopped moving and they looked into each other's eyes. And he realized it wasn't hard, at all, to push away the mental images of a wounded Joss; as he looked into her sparkling eyes now, all he could remember was that her eyes had sparkled like that the day she'd taught him to skate at the outdoor rink at Rockefeller.

A throat being cleared behind them broke the thick silence. "If you two are gonna start making out, I'm gonna go to my room. Ewww."

* * *

The tension broke, and Joss started laughing, almost hysterically, so hard she had to clutch John for support. He started chuckling too, and suddenly all three of them were on the couch laughing until they were breathless. "Sorry, Taylor," John was the first to be able to find words—and his composure. "This was supposed to be a dancing lesson."

"Yeah. I got that." He sighed. "It looks pretty simple, you know, Mom. I don't know why you make it look so hard."

"I make what look so hard, baby?"

"Kissing John. I mean, Dad sucks face with his new girlfriend all the time. Even in public. Saw them do it at my basketball game. So gross." Exasperated eyeroll. "But…John really likes you, in ways that Dad never did, and in ways that Dad doesn't even like his new girlfriend. And you left me with Mrs. Cam in order to go rescue him from that psycho Walker. So I don't know why it's so hard for you to just come right out and tell him you love him."

"Taylor…it's not that simple." Joss sighed, all laughter gone.

"Sorry, Mom, I don't understand why it isn't simple. You love John. John loves you. John likes me. I like him. He makes you happy—which makes me like him even more. Dad looks so happy with his new girlfriend even though I know he doesn't like her even a tenth as much as John loves you, and I want to see you happy too. You look so lonely, sometimes, Mom." He shrugged. "I'm gonna go to bed now. It's been a long day." He stopped at the doorway of the living room. "Oh, and Mom—I'm glad you liked Lia."

"She's a really sweet girl. I liked her better than I liked that Kylie girl you brought home a few years back. I like Kylie even less now knowing she's a bully. So I don't have a problem with you taking her to the dance. I don't have a problem taking her to Junior prom. And I loved being able to help her find a dress." She smiled. "You know she called me a 'cool big sister?"

"Like John's a cool big brother." Taylor nodded. "Yeah, I get it, Mom. I hope you do too."

"I do, baby. Love you." she got up off the couch, crossed the room, planted a kiss on his forehead, having to stand almost on tiptoe to do so. He was getting tall. "Good night, Taylor."

"Good night, Mom. Remember you have your own dance to go to tomorrow night so don't stay up too late, y'hear?" he mimicked her voice perfectly, and she reached for a couch pillow to throw at him as he disappeared from sight, laughing as he sprinted down the hallway to his room and shut the door.

"He's got a smart mouth. But he means well." She said affectionately as she picked up the pillow from the living room floor and returned to the couch with it.

"He's perceptive. And he loves his mother and he wants you to be happy." John got up from the couch. "Joss…I want you to be happy too."

She couldn't speak as he crossed the floor to stand in front of her, reaching for his coat with one hand. "I want you to be happy too, Joss. I can't see how having me in your life could do that for you—don't understand how you can love someone like me. I don't know what you see in me. I'm not worth you. " His voice dropped. "You almost sacrificed your life for me. I still don't know how you got the courage to do it—and I don't know how you have the courage to keep getting up and facing the world every day after what happened. I don't know if I could have done it if I were you. You're incredible. And I love you." He hesitated for a moment—since the incident in the warehouse with Walker, he'd waited for her to indicate to him in some way that she was ready for him, that she wanted to resume their physical relationship, but she was so beautiful standing there that he simply couldn't resist. He leaned in, dropped a sweet but tentative kiss on her lips, savoring the contact. But it had been a couple months since the last time they'd touched, and he still didn't know if she was ready, and suddenly worried he'd overstepped his bounds, he broke the kiss swiftly and then was gone.


	6. Chapter 6: Prep

**Chapter 6: Prep**

"There isn't really a number, is there."

Finch hesitated—then sighed. "No, Mr. Reese. There isn't. What gave it away?"

John shook his head, smiling a little. "You need to come up with more convincing cover stories. We never get a number from The Machine that isn't urgent."

"The moment was opportune. I overheard Joss say that she wished she could go somewhere with you. And the dress she was looking at was truly beautiful. The invitation just came yesterday, and it is unfortunately one of those events to which I'm usually compelled to go. I dislike the sociopolitical grandstanding, but it is a part of doing business. I did briefly consider taking Ms. Shaw—"

"Nuh-uh. No way. Absolutely not. I plan on spending Valentine's night with the real love of my life. Even though he snores and sheds and takes up more than his fair share of my bed, he's still better than a lot of male humans I know." Sam was stretched out on the couch at the far end of the Library's main room, with Bear curled up beside her blissfully getting petted.

"—with me, but somehow I doubt she will have as good a time as you and Detective Carter will," Finch continued as if Shaw hadn't spoken. "I believe Bear would benefit more from her heavy petting than I would."

John choked on his coffee. There was a strangled snort from the couch as Sam said, "Seriously, did you just crack a joke, Finch?"

"I never joke, Ms. Shaw, it was an accurate assessment of my current evaluation of the relationship you share with our erstwhile four-footed teammate."

"Uh-huh. Okay." Sam sounded unconvinced; and only John, from where he was standing by Harold's computer desk, could see the tiny wicked half-smile that barely curved Harold's lips.

"Is it okay to wear a tie, or do I absolutely have to wear a bowtie?" He studied the two lengths of silk in front of him. Ties he could deal with. Bow ties flustered him.

"A bow tie, Mr. Reese, absolutely. This is a business partner of mine and appearances are important. Which is why I asked you to go with Detective Carter. She can pull off elegant and sophisticated, whereas sophisticated is not Ms. Shaw's forte."

"Hey." Sam struggled to sit up, but Bear refused to move. "Damn it, move over, you big walking muff, I have to go beat some sense into Finch there…"

John escaped the Library with the sound of Sam's threats ringing in his ears, bringing a smile to his face. Whether either Finch or Shaw realized it or not, their initial hostility towards each other had evolved into a wary respect for each other's skills and abilities, and they might, in time, become friends. In the meantime, however, he was heading over to Joss's place to help Taylor dress. He'd drop the boy off at the school dance, then come back and take Joss to the mixer.

He wanted to put off putting on the tie until the last possible moment—he hated the feeling of something around his neck. Too much potential for a hostile to grab and use against him. So when he walked up the front steps and knocked twice on the door—yes, he 'rented' a room from Joss, in this apartment, but Joss was still dealing with security issues and he didn't want to startle her—he was still carrying the tie.

Joss yanked the door open on his second knock—and he barely stopped himself from laughing. Her hair was in curlers and she had some kind of cream on her face, but her eyes were sparkling and happy and her smile was broadly exuberant. "Come on in. I'm trying to get Taylor ready while I'm trying to get ready. Give me a few minutes."

He stepped into the living room and closed the door as Joss yelled up the stairs, "Taylor! John's here!"

"Cool!" Pounding footsteps on the stairs, and suddenly Taylor was squeezing past Joss on the steps. "Are you gonna drive us to the dance?"

"Yes. I'll take you to pick Lia up, drop both of you off at the dance, then come back and pick your Mom up and take her out to the business dinner. You said a handful of your friends are going out after the dance to hang out, so if you can have them drop you off back at the school I can pick you up there around midnight—" he stopped because Taylor was shaking his head.

"Mom called Grandmom last night. Said she was going to be working tonight and asked if I could stay over there. So after the dance, my friend Manny's older brother Miguel will drop Lia off at home and me off at Grandmom's, and Mom'll pick me up from Grandmom's tomorrow morning. And I texted Lia with the plan and she said she's cool with that. Manny's older brother is in the Marines, home on leave, and Mom's met him and likes him, so you don't have to worry about who I'm with."

John understood a couple of things at once. One, his hasty kiss of the night before had been understood—and two, Joss was definitely interested, or she wouldn't have arranged for them to have the entire night uninterrupted and alone. He barely dared to hope—did that mean she was ready to…? But then he squashed that thought down. Better not to think about it until it happened.

Even though a certain part of his anatomy was perking up at the thought.

"Okay. Are you ready?" He put the tie down on the coffee table, then put two small cardboard boxes also on the table.

"Yep!" Taylor was bouncing in eagerness. "Mom showed me how to tie a tie. How do I look?"

"You look great." John reached out and gave the tie a twitch, settling it around Taylor's neck, then held out one of the boxes. "I stopped at the florist. It's customary, when a boy takes a girl to a dance, he brings the flowers. So here's a boutonniere for you," he opened the box, pinned the blue rose into place on Taylor's lapel, and handed the boy the box. "This other one goes on Lia's wrist. You put it on her when you pick her up." Taylor nodded solemnly as he tucked the box carefully under one arm. "All right. Let's go. Lia's waiting."

She was indeed; out on the sidewalk in front of an old brownstone not that far from Taylor's and Joss's house. As they pulled up, John could see tension in her shoulders, see the lurking unhappiness in her eyes; and behind her, he could see two older people—her aunt and uncle, he supposed—standing in the doorway of the house. They frowned and looked disapproving; the woman could have soured lemons with her glare. Lia herself was tense and unhappy, and her eyes were suspiciously damp.

He stepped out of the car, walked Taylor up the front walk. Taylor was staring tongue-tied at Lia as he fumbled with putting the single blue rose, on its elastic band, around her wrist, and John suppressed a smile as he turned to her Aunt and Uncle. "We'll have Lia back by eleven," he told them—but it didn't ease the glare; if anything, the woman looked even angrier. As Taylor and Lia went down the walk, and he followed them, he could feel the two people glaring at his back, and he felt vaguely worried—and annoyed.

There was nothing wrong with a young girl going to a chaperoned school dance; Taylor had a good head on his shoulders, put there by a good mother with a clear, firm sense of right and wrong, which she'd imparted to her son; and they'd made arrangements to be chaperoned by an adult coming back. And Taylor knew to call him and Joss if he needed anything or if anything went wrong, and John trusted him to keep his promises. Coed dances might be frowned on in the tradition of the country they were from, but here in the US it was part of growing up, and both Taylor and Lia were sensible kids. It didn't seem fair that Lia would be made so unhappy over a simple, innocent little thing like this by her guardians.

Well, her Aunt and Uncle would have to learn to live with it. Her parents had said yes; her father had even given his daughter extra money to buy a dress with; there was nothing her aunt and uncle could say or do.

Lia started relaxing as Taylor helped her get into the car, but didn't breathe a sigh of relief until they were around the corner and heading for the school. "Whew. I thought for a while that Aunt Savi was going to stop me. I'm glad you came when you did." And then she said, shyly, "You look really nice, Taylor."

"Yeah. Mom's boyfriend took me shopping for a suit while my Mom took my girlfriend shopping for a dress, I swear it's a conspiracy." Then he looked at his tie—and the color of her dress. "John…my tie matches Lia's dress."

"Yes. It does." John was enjoying every minute of this.

"And you got blue roses that match her dress."

"Yes."

"Um…did Mom text you a picture of the dress Lia chose just so you could pick the tie and flowers to match?"

"Yes she did." Lia spoke. "She took a picture of the dress at the store. I wondered why at the time but I didn't say anything."

"Man. Mom really does like Lia, doesn't she?"

John couldn't help it; he laughed aloud. "Right after I drop you off I have to take a picture of you two together so I can send that to Joss," he said. "And then I can send it to your phone, Taylor, so Lia can send it to her parents and they'll know who she's going to the dance with."

"Cool."

* * *

He wasn't laughing when he rang the doorbell to Joss's house—mindful of the fact that this was supposed to be a date—half an hour later after dropping Taylor and Lia off at their school.

Joss looked different when she opened the door this time. Gone were the curlers; now her hair cascaded to her shoulders in delicate little curls. A mist of perfume hung around her, a delicate bouquet of flowers and fruit scents, not a bold, musky, attention-demanding scent like Zoe's. Cold cream was gone, replaced by soft tints of subtle brown around her eyes making her eyes seem larger and brighter; a rosy blush on her cheeks made her look younger and innocent, yet sexy and beautiful at the same time. And the dress that she'd been admiring in the store, the black velvet sheath, hugged her figure in all the right places. She had a gorgeous hourglass shape that he didn't see often in her police uniform or her regular everyday clothes.

He couldn't think of a single thing to say. So, instead, he held out the bouquet of roses that he'd picked up from the florist on his way back from dropping the kids off. Deep crimson roses with a delicate yet heady scent; the color of love, of desire. There was no doubt in his mind of how he wanted the night to go.

And when she looked up at him after taking the flowers, there was no doubt in his mind of which way she wanted the night to go. "Come on in. I'm almost ready, I just need to finish my makeup and put my shoes on. Let me put these in water first." And she turned and headed toward the kitchen.

And for the first time he saw the back of the dress.

His jaw dropped—he had to force himself to step into the house and robotically close the door behind him. He hadn't seen the back of the dress at the store; or if he did, he hadn't noticed. But the plunging back line framed the creamy coffee skin of Joss's back perfectly in the white chiffon cowl, and the elegant small white train behind her followed her every move, glided with her steps. Graceful and elegant. Sophisticated. Just like Harold had wanted. No, he couldn't imagine Shaw being able to wear this dress. Not the way Joss was wearing it.

And suddenly all he wanted was to pull it off and get her out of it.

"John?" She paused in the act of arranging the flowers in a vase. "Are you okay?" She looked down at herself, then looked back up at him, a shadow of anxiety in her eyes. "Does it not look right?"

He found his voice from somewhere down in his shoes; his heart was somewhere in his throat. "No, no, you look…fine. Great." And then what he was really thinking slipped out. "Jesus, Joss. I don't think I can spend the whole night staring at you in that dress."

She frowned. "John, you saw this dress in the store. You knew what it looked like."

"I _looked_ at the dress. I didn't actually _see_ it." He hadn't really paid attention to the dress; he'd been imagining the woman he loved in it, and what she would look like when he peeled it off her and got her out of it. Seeing her actually in it hit him like a fist to the gut…and electricity to his groin.

She stepped out of the kitchen, and he simply couldn't keep his hands off her anymore. He stepped behind her, pushed her hair off the nape of her neck, and dropped a light, feathery kiss at the base of her neck, right at the top of her spine, as his fingers trailed down the smooth expanse of her back. She gave a soft sigh that turned his knees to jelly and his blood to liquid fire.

"We could always just stay here," he said thickly, completely forgetting that he and Harold had told her they were going out to this mixer to keep an eye on a number.

"We could, but then Harold would be cheated out of his attempt to give us a Valentine's Day gift. In his own way." Joss smiled sweetly and slipped gracefully out of his arms.

His mind stumbled over her words. "You knew it was a setup?"

She walked back to him, chuckled as she picked up the bowtie from where he'd dropped it on the coffee table. "John, when are you and Harold going to stop underestimating me? Yes, I knew it was a setup. You—we've—never gotten a number that wasn't urgent. It was a transparent attempt at getting the two of us some time alone together, and you're being unusually dense—even for you—if you think I didn't see that from the start. I figured out your work with the Machine—you think I couldn't figure out a blatant setup?"

"Guilty." He stood there feeling foolish as her hands flew on the bow tie, weaving the little bit of fabric around his neck until she was done. He and Harold should have known there wasn't much that got past Joss Carter.

"There. Perfect. You know, it's nice to know that, as skilled as you are at a lot of things, there are still some things you can't do. Like figure me out. And tying a bowtie."

"I can field-strip a 45 in the dark upside down but I've never been able to figure those damn things out," he growled as she patted the edge of the tie into place and stepped back.

"That's okay. You don't have to as long as you're with me," Joss gave him a sweetly malicious smile. "Let me slip on some shoes, grab my purse, and we can go. I figure we'll spend maybe an hour at the mixer, just long enough to nibble a little and have some fun. Then we'll come back here…and the real fun can begin."

His mind tumbled straight into the gutter. "I'll be waiting. Don't take too long."

She smiled at him. "I won't."

She was gone just long enough for him to get himself under control, but when she swept back into the living room in that dress, with heels on and a long dark wool duster, and a glittery pin holding the curls up off her right ear, he again wished they could skip the business mixer and just stay here. But one look at her face, the bright anticipatory gleam in her eyes, and the words died on his lips. She was looking forward to this, very much indeed, and he was not going to be the one to take this away from her.

He chose that moment to open the second box he'd placed on the coffee table earlier; the blue roses had been for Taylor and Lia; but these bright red ones were for himself and Joss. One he pinned to his lapel; seized by sudden inspiration, he took the other rose off its elastic wrist strap and tucked it under the pin in her hair. There were no thorns, so it wouldn't stick her, but the bright red looked beautiful nestled among the dark curls.

"Thanks, John," she said as he finished, with a smile that was full of warmth and love.

"Don't thank me until you've opened this," he said, and from the pocket of his jacket he produced a small box.

"John…I didn't get you anything!" She looked distressed even as she reached for it.

"I didn't get this for just you. I got it for both of us. Open it." And she did.

Inside, nestled on a bed of cotton, were two stainless-steel dog-tag style pendants on standard-length bead chains. Each pendant had an engraved, stylized J on the front; one had it in a flowing feminine script, the other was in bold, masculine block letters. And on the back, Army rank markers. Few people outside the military could read military markings, and few people would get close enough to realize that the back of Joss's pendant was engraved with the chevrons of John's rank, Sergeant First Class; and the back of John's pendant was engraved with the stripes of Joss's rank of Warrant Officer.

"John. They're beautiful." She took the one with the feminine J off its bed of cotton and grinned when she saw the Sergeant's chevron on the back. "Subtle. Very subtle. I love it." She reached up to slide the chain over her head, then tucked the pendant down into the front of her dress. "I'm never, ever taking this off."

He settled the other pendant, the one with the first letter of his name and the bars of her rank around his neck, wiggling it under the restrictive bowtie; it settled against his chest, warming slowly from his body heat, and grinned. He'd thought about the usual gifts one bought for a woman on Valentine's Day; chocolates, jewelry—but he didn't see her wear jewelry that often, had no idea what she'd like, and so had chosen these pendants for the two of them. From the look on her face, he'd made the right decision.

"Shall we go?" He held his right elbow out to her.

She linked her left arm with his. "Let's go."


	7. Chapter 7: My Girl

**Chapter 7: My Girl**

"Ready?" Taylor looked at Lia as he slipped his cellphone into his pocket, with the photo John had taken now securely stored in his phone's memory. He'd email the photo to himself later, print it out on nice photo paper, get Mom to find a nice frame so he could put it on his desk table at home.

She looked toward the lighted gym. "You know, this is the first time I've ever been to a social gathering that didn't involve schoolwork. I'm afraid I'm going to embarrass you or something."

"It's just a silly old school dance," Taylor tried to reassure her. "Just like assemblies in the gym, we just don't have to listen to the principal talking. You don't even have to talk to anyone. Just sit and watch everyone. Oh, and you do have to have at least one dance with me."

"Dance?" her voice squeaked on the last word. "But Kylie said—"

He stopped walking, turned to face her, using his body to block out the sight of the open gym door, making sure she would only see him. "Forget what Kylie said. I don't care about her. She's a user and a bully and she doesn't deserve any of our attention. She gets enough of it from everyone else, she's not going to get ours too. Let's make a promise. It's just you and me tonight. No one else."

She looked up at him, and smiled. He loved her smile. She never smiled widely; hers started with a slight uptwitch at the corners of her mouth, then slowly spread across the rest of her face like a sunrise. Shy, sweet, and so pretty—to him. She didn't have Kylie's conventional beauty, but he'd seen a glimpse of what lay in her heart and mind during their tutoring sessions, as they kept journals and diaries and wrote essays for their teachers, and she had a brilliant mind and a sensitive soul. He found himself attracted to her for reasons that had nothing to do with physical beauty, and so he understood why someone like John Reese would fall in love with someone like his Mom. Mom wasn't what Hollywood would call beautiful, but she had the same indefinable something that Lia had.

He was tempted to kiss her, but maybe she wasn't ready for that yet. So he linked hands with her, their fingers twined, and then they strolled to the open door of the gym.

They were early enough that the gym wasn't really full—the people who would come later, Kylie and her crowd, were the ones that would make a late entrance just to draw attention to themselves. Right now there were students that weren't part of the 'in' crowd, people that Taylor recognized and actually wanted to talk to, and he headed across the gym to talk to Manny, a senior but not one of the popular kids.

"Hey, Taylor! Lia, it's great to see you!" There was unfeigned warmth in Manuel Landers's voice as he and his date, Angela Greenwood, turned at the sound of Taylor's voice. Taylor grinned at Angela, then threw his arm around many, thumping him on the back. "Hey. Manny. Good to see you made it, Angela, I didn't know if you'd come to our school's dance."

"Are you kidding? Wouldn't have missed this for the world!" Angela grinned at him. "Since many told me you were bringing Lia, I knew I had to come. My school's Valentine's dance is tonight but I really wanted to meet her." She grabbed Lia's hands. "Oh, wow, that's an absolutely beautiful dress. And I love your shoes! My feet are already killing me in these heels, and I know I'll have blisters later. It's so sensible of you to wear something that's comfortable and won't get in the way of your enjoying the evening!"

Lia smiled shyly. "My Aunt doesn't approve of school dances, so she wouldn't take me shopping, but I ran into Taylor and his Mom at the mall and she helped me pick out this dress. I really do like it." She smoothed down her skirt.

"That's an absolutely gorgeous color on you, it really looks good against your skin. Did Taylor's Mom really help? He talks about her, says she's wonderful, but of course, he's a guy, and boys love their moms. Come on, let's go sit over here, my feet are killing me. Manny, can you and Taylor bring us each a cup of punch please?" and she drew Lia over to a couple of tables, still talking, leaving Manny and Taylor staring after the girls in consternation—and amusement.

"How do they do that?" Manny said finally, shaking his head.

"I don't know. I've seen Mom have the same effect on her boyfriend, so it must be a woman thing. Let's go get their punch so they don't get mad at us, or our evening is gonna be spoiled."

As they stood in line at the punch table, Manny leaned in conspiratorily. "I heard a rumor that someone put yours and Lia's names in the ballot box for Valentine Sweethearts. Andy volunteered to help organize the dance and he told me he saw the ballots. You and Lia are definitely on there."

"Seriously?" Taylor blinked.

"Yep. And I heard a rumor that you might be the front runners too. Kylie and Steve are on the ballot, and they may be the front runners, but you and Lia are on there and so are Andy and Trinity and Robby and Michelle. Angela and I both decided we'd vote for you two."

Taylor grinned. "Lia will be so surprised if we end up winning. I mean, I know we won't—most of the kids here will vote for Kylie and Steve, you know that—but it'll still be great seeing our names up there."

"That's what I thought. Manny grinned. "My brother said after we get done here and the dance lets out, we'll stop and grab some shakes and grab a bite before we all go home. When do you and Lia have to be back?"

"I told Grandmom eleven. Mom's…busy…tonight so I have to get dropped off at Grandmom's. And we told Lia's Aunt and Uncle eleven so we'd better have her back by then too or she's going to get in real trouble."

"Her Aunt and Uncle are such prudes."

"They come from a country where the customs are different. They can't help the way they think. Although yeah, it's totally not fair that they expect her to conform to their ideas of what to do when she's not a part of their religion or their culture. But they're still her guardians." Taylor was trying to be fair.

"Only for another year. Then she's gonna be an adult and she can do what she wants to do." They reached the front of the line, grabbed for cups. "Here, I'll hold mine and Angela's, you pour, then you can hold yours and Lia's and I'll pour." Manny reached for the dipper in the punch bowl.

As everyone expected, Kylie and Steve and the entire crowd of the popular kids all arrived at the same time, about an hour into the three-hour dance. There was muttering as the kids who were already here had to get off the dance floor to clear the way for the newcomers. Taylor quickly guided Lia to a nearby table, hoping Kylie would miss them in the crowd, but no such luck—the tall blond cheerleader saw them sitting at the far end of the gym and came over. Her smile was bright but there was meanness behind her eyes, and Taylor found himself tensing.

"Hi, Taylor. Hi, Lia. So glad you could make it," and her emphasis on the word 'so' made it clear that no, Kyle was not glad they were there. "Oh, what a nice dress, Lia, did your mother sent that to you? You know the vintage stuff from our parents' teen years are making a comeback and they do look so quaint."

Lia was blushing furiously, and Taylor stepped in. "I like it. I think she looks great. Hey, is that Steve looking for you?" it was a not-so-subtle hint that Kylie should get lost.

Either she missed it or she ignored it. Probably the latter. "Steve will be fine. Okay, you kids have fun now, okay? And don't forget, Lia, you have to be back before the coach turns back into a pumpkin!" A trill of artificial laughter, and she was gone.

"She's so mean. I don't know what I ever saw in her." He shook his head, turned to Lia—and saw the dampness in her eyes. "Oh come on, Lia—ignore her. What she said didn't matter. Don't think about it." He handed her a napkin.

She dabbed at her eyes. "She called my dress quaint."

Taylor snorted derisively. "Yeah, well, compared to what she was wearing, you're wearing a convent nun's habit. She looks like she belongs in an exotic club somewhere, not a high school dance. I love your dress, Lia. Mom and John did too. Forget Kylie and just have fun."

He scooted his chair slowly backwards over the next ten minutes, forcing her to have to adjust her own chair's position to see him. Finally she had her back to the room and they could talk without her seeing anyone but him, and slowly she relaxed again.

Until the principal came on the stage. "And for the crowning event of the night, boys and girls, we're going to pick the Valentines Dance Sweethearts. Nominations were submitted earlier this week, and our Dance Committee had a chance to look them over and count them. The candidates with the most number of nominations were placed on the ballot, so this Valentine's Day, there are four couples. Only one will be crowned Valentine's Sweethearts, so everybody take a look at the ballots being handed out now, and make your choices. We'll announce the results in ten minutes."

Lia stared in consternation at her ballot as it was handed to her. "You and me? Taylor!"

"I didn't nominate us, Lia, honestly I didn't. I swear."

She read the truth in his eyes, and stared down at the slip of paper. "So who did?"

"A lot of people did," came a voice from behind them. They turned to see Andy Stewart and Trinity Cross, two of the other nominees. Andy was on the organization team, Taylor remembered Manny saying. "You had to have more than twenty nominations to make it onto the ballot, and while I didn't count the exact number, you both made it in easily. I wouldn't be surprised if the final vote was pretty close between you two and Kylie and Steve."

"Andy, come on," Trinity stamped her foot, and Andy allowed himself to be drawn away, back into the crowd.

Taylor looked around—just in time to see Kylie lean in to a couple sitting at a table, point to their ballot, say something. The couple's eyes flicked to Taylor and Lia, then hurriedly back down to the ballot—and Lia flushed red as she turned her attention back to her ballot. "She's telling people not to vote for us."

"Who cares?" Taylor shrugged as he checked off his and Lia's names on his card and dropped it into a passing ballot box being held by a dance organizer. "You're my sweetheart for the dance, so who cares what anyone else thinks?"

"You're so sweet, Taylor. Thank you," Lia said.

Manny came by their table with Angela. "You know Kylie and Steve are going around telling everyone to vote for them."

"I know. They're rigging the vote. It's okay, Manny, it's not like Lia and I really need that kind of attention anyway."

"Yeah, but it's still not fair." Manny frowned mutinously. "Angela, let's go around and tell people to vote for Taylor and Lia."

"No! No, dude, seriously, it's not that big a deal!" Taylor was half laughing at his friend's stubbornness. "Really, Manny. Just leave it alone. I don't need a dance ballot or a vote to tell me Lia's a sweetheart."

"Taylor. Man, you are so stubborn." Manny rolled his eyes, but Taylor refused to stop glaring until he finally sighed. "Okay. Fine. Not a word."

And that was that. Taylor and Lia returned to their conversation—the latest chapter in the book they were reading for English Lit—when someone suddenly gave Taylor a shove. "Well, go up there, they're calling for both of you!"

"What?" Lia looked confused, but many and Angela were pushing their way through the crowd toward them.

"Haven't you been paying attention? It was a tie! The votes were a tie! Kylie and Steve and you and Taylor were all voted as Valentine's Sweethearts!" Angela tugged a stunned, frozen Lia out of her chair. "Come on, go up there, the Sweethearts Dance is about to begin!"

It was tradition that the couple who was voted Valentine's Sweethearts for that year led the last dance. Taylor shot a grin at a dazed-looking Lia as they joined Kylie and Steve Wood at the podium at the front of the gym, and at their appearance there was a wave of applause at least as loud as the applause Kylie and Steve had gotten…maybe a little more so. "I voted for you!" came a hissed whisper from someone at the front of the room, and Taylor felt a moment of surprise as he realized the whisper came from Trinity herself—one of Kylie's best friends. Then they were in front of the podium, and the music was playing the intro to the song that always concluded the school's Valentine dance.

He felt a moment of panic as he put his arms around her and took her hand, like John had showed him the previous night—but when he looked into Lia's eyes and saw her nervousness there, he forgot about his own. And then, the next moment when Kylie leaned in and whispered nastily, "Just sway back and forth. You can't dance, anyway," he forgot about his nervousness seeing the fear in Lia's eyes. He ran through John's instructions in his head, thinking about John maybe dancing with his Mom at this very moment, and it helped calm his nerves.

And then he looked at Lia, and he forgot to be nervous. She was tense, but Kylie's hissed nastiness had riled her temper up, and he felt her take the lead. And suddenly it felt like they both were floating.

It felt so good to be dancing with Emilia Riante. Kylie had made her mad; there were two bright spots of color high on her cheeks, her eyes were fairly snapping sparks, and he suddenly saw an Italian temper under her quiet façade. "You look magnificent," he whispered under the cover of the music. "Look at Kylie, she looks mad!"

Kylie was furious. Used to being the center of attention wherever she went, used to being petted and praised and being told she was the best at everything no matter where she was or who she was with, to be upstaged by a small, dark Italian-Indian girl with a quiet, hot temper of her own was an entirely new experience for the blond cheerleader. People were moving back to give Taylor and Lia more space, not even caring if they bumped into Kylie and Steve—they were altogether forgotten as people cheered for Lia and Taylor.

The song ended, and he felt euphoric as the principal said, "Let's hear it for this year's Valentines Sweethearts! Now, that concludes the dance, everyone shake hands, and we'll all go home happy!" Taylor turned to Kylie and Steve, hand extended.

But Kylie didn't shake hands. She gave him and Lia both a hard, baleful, anger-filled glare, turned, and stomped off. Steve gave Taylor a long, hard look that felt threatening; Taylor returned the look with one that said 'I'm not afraid of you' and continued to hold out his hand. Then Steve looked at Lia, and there was, for just a moment, something hard and nasty looking out of his eyes…and then he too was gone, following Kylie out of the gym.

Taylor would never remember what stammered apologies the principal made for Kylie and Steve's rude behavior; he knew that for the last few months of school he was going to have to look out for Lia. Steve wasn't going to make either of their lives easy; well, Taylor was going to do what he could to protect Lia from the other boy's nastiness. John would have some ideas-Taylor was planning on telling John. He wasn't afraid of Steve Wood—no way in hell.

"Come on. Let's go find Manny and Angela and blow this place. It's almost ten-thirty and we have to get you back by eleven." Lia allowed herself to be led away, still pink-cheeked and angry.

But her anger had cooled by the time they were sitting in the parking lot of the local fast-food joint, sipping strawberry, vanilla and chocolate milkshakes. The events of the evening were a bit more distant, now, and Taylor could laugh about it now with a light heart; but as they said goodbye to Lia at the front doorstep of her Aunt and Uncle's house at exactly eleven o'clock (thanks to Manny's older brother's military-instilled sense of timeliness) he resolved to keep an eye out for whatever the last few months of school might bring.


	8. Chapter 8: Fall

**Chapter 8: Fall**

Heads turned as they walked in. A subtle murmur passed through the crowd.

John pretended he didn't notice, but there was no way he could have _not_ noticed the glances he and Joss were getting from all over the room. He scanned the room carefully for threats—no, they weren't here for a number, but that didn't mean that trouble couldn't rear its ugly head, so it never hurt to be cautious. You just never knew…

But in the meantime, Joss had approached the maitre'd and handed him the sheet of expensive linen-cotton blend paper that had been their invitation—and ticket—into the rarified atmosphere of high society's brokers of money and power. "Harold Burdett? Yes, his name's on the list here, he emailed to say he wouldn't be able to make it, but that two of his business partners would attend in his stead. Mr. John Riley and Ms. Jocelyn Carter."

"That's us. Thank you," and Joss smiled sweetly as she closed her purse and turned to look around the room. So many people. So many faces. But she noticed many of those heads were turned hers and John's way.

"Oh my God, what an absolutely delicious hunk!" she and John heard someone whisper to someone else as they passed. John's face stayed somber—the man had a hell of a poker face when he really set his mind to it—but she could tell from the slight vibration of his arm linked with hers that he was laughing internally.

"That is an absolutely gorgeous dress!" someone else whispered to her as she passed, and she smiled and thanked them, then she and John moved on.

And then, quite close—and in an insultingly loud stage whisper, a male voice at her elbow. "She'd look so much better on my arm than his."

Oh _really_. This she wasn't going to ignore, especially as that stage whisper had been specifically aimed at her. "No thanks. _You_ wouldn't look half as good next to this dress," she said archly, then turned and swept away with John, leaving a dumbfounded loser staring at her back.

John snagged two glasses of sparkling champagne off a server's tray and handed one to her. "Joss Carter; one, loser; zero," he chuckled. "You've got a temper on you, Ms. Carter."

"And don't you forget it," she grinned as she sipped from her glass. "Look at that guy back there. I think his girl just deserted him for someone else." Sure enough, the loser was now standing all by his lonesome self in the middle of the room.

John chuckled and let his eyes travel around the room. "Look over there," he said, nudging Joss's arm with one finger. "See that guy over there with that young woman on his arm he's introducing as his secretary? They're having an affair."

"Really? How can you tell?" Joss turned to look—and as she did, she saw the woman reach out with one hand and squeeze the guy's rear. "Oh my." Then she considered. "Well, I can see how she'd find him attractive. He does have some nice tight buns." A quick smile at him full of merry wickedness. "Not nearly as nice and tight as yours, however."

John nearly choked on his sip of champagne.

"Now look over there." She pointed behind him, and he leaned in toward her, turning for a quick look around as he did so. "See that girl with the tight red minidress on? I've seen her before—in the booking room at the precinct. She's an escort."

John casually reached out and appropriated a cracker with a slice of cheese on it from a passing server, in the process having to move to Joss's other side. Now he was looking the same direction she was facing, so he could see what she was looking at as she talked. "You see that handkerchief tucked into the top of the guy's breast pocket? The logo's all scrunched up but that's the logo of one of Manhattan's high-priced escort and call girl services. He's here showing off the merchandise, hoping to attract clients." Sure enough, one of the men standing over in the corner watching the pimp and the call girl stepped forward and discreetly handed the girl a small white rectangle—a business card—but his hand lingered a little too long touching hers.

"She's not pretty enough to be a call girl. I'd certainly never take her out anywhere with me." John sipped his champagne, studying the call girl. "She's really not my type."

"Not your type? So what does the great John Riley call 'his type'?" She faced him squarely, smiling but with a hint of challenge in her eyes.

"Feisty. Independent. Fiercely self-dependent. Persistent and stubborn." He met her eyes with wry humor of his own. "Has to have a sense of humor. Thinks of everyone first before she thinks of herself. Self-sacrificing." He looked at her, and his eyes softened. "Sometimes too much."

"You give a lot of yourself too, John. Sometimes too much, too." The room faded into the background—in this moment, there was just the two of them. "You have a temper too, but you only lose it when you have to—or when someone does something stupid and deserves to get yelled at." They both grinned.

"Well, when we get back, there's a little something I'd like to give you…" And the look he gave her had enough heat in it to send hot desire sizzling down her nerves.

"I know…" she felt breathless, had to gulp a quick breath. "Taylor's going over to my mother's after the dance tonight, I told her I was working."

"You _lied_ to your mother…" John grinned, a darkly predatory, sensual male smile that did absolutely nothing good to her libido. If anything, he was even more intensely sexy in that moment.

"Well, I am working, sort of. Harold did say we had a number…I'm just not supposed to know it was a ruse."

"We should have known we couldn't get anything past you. Harold said he briefly considered taking Sam, but Sam's already planning on spending Valentine's Day with her current flame." A smile curved his lips. "Finch said Bear would benefit more from her heavy petting than he would."

Joss almost choked on her champagne. Her face turned red as she struggled to catch her breath. "Harold actually said that?" she finally gasped out through tearing eyes. "Oh my gosh."

Movement in John' peripheral vision caught his attention, and he turned—just as the person he'd seen moved into Joss's field of vision. "Joss?" came a male voice.

She turned to see who was talking to her, and the color drained from her face so suddenly John reached out a hand to her, wondering if she was going to faint. But she shook off his hand, took a step past him, facing the newcomer, and as he turned and saw who it was, he tensed.

Paul Carter.

"I didn't know you'd be here tonight," Joss said softly.

"My new girlfriend's boss was invited to this party, but he couldn't attend, so he asked her to come. I came with her to keep her company." Then, with a sidelong glance at John, "I didn't know you were into stockbrokers. Or rather, maybe he's in you."

Joss flushed at the scornful look Paul gave John. "This is John Riley. His boss, Harold Burdett, was unable to make the mixer so he asked John to come. I came along just to keep him company."

"Some company." Carter looked at John in what John assumed was supposed to be a challenging manner, but Paul Carter was not—and never would be—a match for John himself. There was no challenge necessary. John was clearly the superior male here, and he let his features and body relax in a subtle insult that said 'I'm not wasting time on you, you're not worth it'. No words were spoken between the two men, but none needed to be.

Paul Carter shrugged and turned away, dismissing John and Joss as unimportant. Joss took a step forward, caught his sleeve as he started to walk away. He spun quickly, yanking his arm out of her hand. She drew back, looking slightly hurt, and John gritted his teeth to keep from saying anything.

"Are you…doing okay?"

He gave her a cold, slashing look. "Apparently not as good as you're doing with White Boy here," he said almost sneeringly.

"Paul, that's not fair. We both have moved on." She nodded a head in the direction of Paul's girlfriend, who had drifted off to give Paul time to talk to Joss.

"Yeah. But I guess now I know why Taylor hasn't really warmed up to me. You've been telling him all sorts of things and White Boy over there's probably been buying him off with expensive toys. Is this why he didn't get me to take him out to pick out a suit for his school dance tonight? Rich White Boy can afford to buy him something expensive—or have a suit tailored for him?"

"John hasn't bought Taylor anything, Paul. And I haven't told him anything. I want him to have a good relationship with you—he's your son." She sounded hurt. "And leave John out of it. He has nothing to do with this. And stop calling him that."

Carter shrugged. "I'll call him whatever I please. It's nothing to me if you want a little milk in your coffee." He looked Joss up and down, appraisingly, and John had to grit his teeth again. He looked like he was looking at merchandise in a shop, not a woman, not the mother of his son. "Though I guess I can see what he sees in you. Is he seeing anything else of you?"

That was enough. John faced Carter. "I see a beautiful woman, inside and out, who loved you. You didn't care enough about her to love her the way she deserves to be loved. You don't deserve to even know her. Taylor's seventeen, he can make up his own mind about what and who he sees around him, and if you think I'm the reason he doesn't like you, then you're obviously not paying attention to your own son. He loves his mother. He's very protective of her. And what you say and do about and to Joss only makes him want to distance himself even further from you. You're the only one driving him away from you, and you don't even realize it. I'm sorry for you." He took Joss's arm. "Come on. Let's go dance."

"Dancing? You never wanted to dance with me," Carter snapped, no longer even bothering to be polite. "Guess you're the lucky one."

"Yes." John didn't bother to hide his dislike of Paul Carter anymore. What the hell had Joss seen in him, that she would decide to marry him? At this moment, the only thing John could see good about Paul Carter was the fact that he'd given Taylor to Joss, and that he'd managed to not pass on any of his more charming personality traits to the boy. Joss was flushed red with embarrassment, and she looked so hurt. "Yes, I'm the lucky one. I'm lucky Joss puts up with me. I'm lucky she tolerates me. I'm lucky she cares about me. I'm lucky she loves me.

"You were lucky that she loved you. Loved you enough to marry you, have your son. Still cares about you. You have no idea how lucky you were. And you threw that all away. Taylor sees that every day, every time he tries to talk about Joss in front of you and you dismiss it, dismiss him, and dismiss the mother he loves. That's why he doesn't like you." It was on the tip of John's tongue to say that Taylor's dislike also stemmed from the fact that he remembered his father emotionally and physically abusing his mother, but it wasn't something that should be brought up in public. Joss was red-faced with embarrassment and he wanted to get her away from the whole disagreeable situation. "Come on, Joss." He took her arm and led her away from Paul Carter, and this time the man didn't try to stop them as they headed for the dance floor.

He didn't speak to her until they were on the dance floor and he had one hand around her waist, the other in hers. Her hand was cold and sweaty, and he could feel the tension in her body. They went through a few measures of the dance in silence, and it wasn't until he felt her body relax under his hand that he spoke. "Why did you do that, Joss?" he said. "Why did you ask him if he was okay?"

"He's been picking Taylor up from school on Friday afternoons for their weekend visits and simply sending me text messages when something comes up and he can't. I haven't seen or talked to him in months. Is it really so hard to imagine I would want to know how a man I was married to is doing when I haven't seen him in awhile?" she sounded bitter.

He hadn't known it had been that long since she'd seen Paul, and his anger at the other man only increased. "He's practically going out of his way to avoid seeing you. Like Taylor said, he obviously doesn't care about you or how you're doing. You don't owe him any concern either."

"But I'm not like that. I'm not like him. I can't just stop caring about him, stop thinking about whether he's doing okay." She looked up at him. "I can't just turn it off, John. I thought I could. When I left Paul, I told myself never again. I told myself for a while that it was just Taylor and me, and that was all we needed and that was all we were ever going to need. But somehow, somewhere along the way, after I met you...things changed. Even that night at the station." A wry smile, a hint of his Joss coming out after the storm.

"I had no idea who was hiding under those dirty clothes and wild hair. I had no idea how much my life was going to change after that one chance meeting. If someone had told me this was going to be the start of a wonderful friendship, I wouldn't have believed them. But then you started popping up at my crime scenes—and places where I knew I'd have had a crime scene if you hadn't been there. Mrs. Kovacs was only the first of many incidents."

"I heard your conversation with Eddie in the diner. You had sass and spunk. I liked that. I could respect that and admire that in you, about you. I told Finch that day—you weren't just another number. And you weren't. You never have been."

"Even when I was hunting you down?" Storm over. There was a mischievous sparkle in her eye, and she was suddenly floating in his arms.

"Even when you were hunting me down. Even then. I couldn't help but admire your tenacity, your adherence to your own moral code. And...that night on the roof...Finch told me you'd called the FBI on me."

"I knew as soon as I put that phone down it was a mistake. I knew I was going to feel horrible about it. And then, when Snow's partner shot you on the roof..." she shuddered, closed her eyes. "John...I don't think I ever said I'm sorry for all that. It should never have happened. I should never have done that."

"You made a mistake. And Joss Carter fixes her mistakes. Like when you found Finch getting me into the car downstairs—you helped me the rest of the way into the car. Told Finch to get me out of there." He smiled at her. "I don't remember a lot from that night, but that I do remember. Your voice. You didn't have to say you were sorry, Joss, I could hear it. Feel it. See it. And then, later...the night at the hospital…I was sitting alone on a bench with a paramedic's shirt draped over me, but somehow you knew it was me. You came up and offered me help. And then when Walker kidnapped me…" he clamped down on the shudder that rippled through him at the painful, hideous memory. "Never has anyone in my life ever deliberately offered to sacrifice themselves for me. I couldn't believe you even came, after what Walker did to you—I expected you wouldn't." A deep breath. "Seeing you standing there…God, Joss…" Words failed. He looked at her instead, willing her to see what was in his eyes. "No one's ever loved me the way you do. You're always offering me help, Joss. And yet, whenever I offer to help you—with HR, for instance—you turn me down." A soft smile. "Or you say I don't have to. You always take the higher ground, Joss, you give me an out even when I don't want an out."

The music ended, but Joss didn't step away; she lingered a moment in his arms, wondered for a brief moment if Paul was watching, and then suddenly decided she didn't care. She stepped in close, felt his arms close around her, felt the smooth fabric of his tuxedo jacket against her cheek. "So...I guess I'll break with tradition this time and not give you an out. Did Taylor tell you about my arrangements for him for the evening? That he's going to my mother's after his friends drop him off from the dance?"

Her voice dropped to a soft husky purr and his blood was suddenly racing, heart slamming around in his chest so hard he wondered if it would burst. "He did," he said quietly. "If you're having second thoughts..."

For answer, she kissed him.

Long, sweet. Her lips didn't part, it was a touch of their lips together only, but there was enough thinly-disguised passion in the connection to heat the air around them, heat their bodies, heat their blood. And when he finally broke off the kiss, pausing long enough to look into her eyes, the question he'd been about to ask died unsaid on his lips.

He didn't have to ask. Not when she looked like that.


	9. Chapter 9: Chemicals React

**Chapter 9: Chemicals React**

_Author's note: Chapter inspired by Aly & AJ's song 'Chemicals React'._

The bowtie she'd tied for him never made it all the way back to her apartment. His jacket didn't make it past the front door. Neither did her shoes.

By the time they'd gotten into her bedroom his shoes had been left somewhere in the hall; his shirt had lost a few buttons on the stairs. Joss's dress was too beautiful to pull off, but he pressed her back to the wall at the top of her stairs and slid one hand up her pantyhose-clad leg, found the top of the pantyhose and started trying to pull it down—and cursed when the rough edge of a nail snagged the delicate nylon. It was Joss herself who reached down, almost casually, and yanked the waistband of the pantyhose down, ignoring the run that ran all the way down to her knees. Moments later that annoying, tantalizingly thin barrier between his hands and her silky smooth skin was gone, and he could finally touch her again after two months of wanting her and being unable to because of what Walker had done to her.

She was exquisite; so different from Jessica's gentle tenderness, different from Zoe's bold demand for attention. She held him as if she wanted, and yet her hold was so light that he could have pulled away anytime, could have left, walked out on his own. And he felt instinctively that as much as her body was, right now, saying she wanted this, if he decided he didn't, she would never try to hold him against his will. She respected him enough to give him his space, to let him make his own choices and she would live with the results of those choices. And she loved him enough to make him acknowledge that he needed his own space, the way she had when she'd insisted he maintain his own apartment.

And strangely, that just made him want her all the more. It was a strange leash she was holding, a bond of love that freed him and yet held him tighter than he'd ever felt himself held before; held him tightly—and he didn't mind. Didn't mind at all.

As her body came out of the black dress—she almost literally peeled it off her body—he stifled a groan as his pants became suddenly several sizes too tight. Too restrictive. He couldn't move in them. Couldn't—he barely noticed when the button went flying off to the right somewhere, toward Joss's closet; his attention was focused on taking her almost nude body in his arms. Pantyhose gone, the only clothing left to her was a pair of black lace panties clinging to her hips, and a matching strapless black lace bra cupping her breasts.

The panties were easily disposed of. The bra...well, damn, the thing was strapless—how the hell was he supposed to get it off?

Joss started giggling hysterically as she reached behind her with one hand. "It's not rocket science, John," she teased, and suddenly the bra was a strip of lace dangling from her hand."Hmm. See something you like?"

"Mmm," he murmured as he stepped close to her, pulled her close as he toed off his socks and stood in front of her dressed in nothing but boxers that strained against his insistent desire. She grinned then, stepped close, and kissed him again.

In comparison with the lips-closed, almost chaste kiss from the business mixer, this one had heat, hunger, lust in it. Mouths opened, lips parted, tongues twined in hot, hungry demand; John was barely aware of her hands sliding down his chest, flicking his dog tag pendant and the bullet with his name on it hanging from its own bead chain, before continuing down to his waist, where she took hold of the waistband of his boxers and started sliding them down.

He forced himself to take a step back and pulled her up to face him; then he kissed her again even as his hands roved over her skin, down her back, her shoulders, around her waist to her front—and then up her front, reaching up to cup her breasts. Their bit of height difference made it difficult for him to reach the parts of her he most wanted to touch—so he applied pressure to her gently, as he'd done when they were in the dance, to let her know to step back.

She did, stepping back until the back of her knees hit the bed, then she sat down. He sat next to her, kissing her once more, then gently pressed back on her shoulder until she lay flat across her bed. When Joss and Taylor had moved from their old apartment to this one, she'd bought a king-sized bed, and moved her old one, a queen, to the third bedroom, just down the hall—John's bedroom. With the king, unlike her old queen, there was more than enough comfortable surface there for John to do what he'd dreamed of for so long...

"Lie down comfortably. On your back. And relax." It had been almost half a year since their last time, and Walker's ugliness had been the last time her body had been touched, and he definitely didn't want her to have any PTSD flashbacks from that utter violation. Not with him, from his hands. Walker, and the memories of what he'd done to Joss, had no place in bed between John and Joss. Ever.

He started by dropping a kiss on her forehead, running fingers through her hair. A soft, gentle kiss on her temple, a deeply intimate gesture, and then that gentle kiss turned into a line of hot, hungry kisses from just under her ear, down the curve of her neck and shoulder. Her hands came up involuntarily to run through his hair, a gentle caress; she felt him moan under her hand.

She had full, round, firm breasts. Great for breastfeeding Taylor—but Paul had always teased her about them, saying they made her look like a cow. She'd laughed along with him the first time he'd said that, but later on, when their relationship turned bitter and his anger became a tangible, living being in the same room with them, the same bed, he'd repeat it, and what might have started as a harmless joke soon turned into another in a long line of hurtful words Paul had said to her that had hurt her feelings, her self-esteem, and ultimately had led to leaving him.

She shouldn't be thinking about this while in bed with John. She shouldn't. He was so different from Paul, and it wasn't just the skin color—she didn't even notice that. When he was angry, he didn't lash out, take it out on anyone and everyone around him; he channeled it into a direction it would do the most good. He talked to her, respected her, cared about her and protected her even as he gave her the independence and freedom to do what she felt she needed to do, in her life and in her work. He had the ability to have Harold track her every move, every word of every conversation—if Paul had had that kind of power, he'd have done so unashamedly, watching every minute of her life, waking and sleeping. And although she knew the cellphone she carried was Finch's—and John's—conduit into her life, she never felt like they were intruding, or spying. She might joke about it, but it was clear it was a joke; they interfered when her life was in danger, or when she asked them. And only then.

* * *

"Joss..." John sensed that she'd drifted away there for a moment, she wasn't responding to what he was doing to her. It wasn't an annoyance; he wanted to know what it was she was thinking about.

"I'm sorry," she said, but there was something different in her voice. Hurt. Pain.

He took his mouth and hands off her and settled beside her, one arm lying warm across her stomach. "Tell me."

"It's silly," she said, taking a quick swipe at her eyes, and he decided that he wasn't going to let this go. Whatever it was, it was something that affected her enough to forget her own desire, and he wanted to figure out whatever it was...and get rid of it.

"It's not silly if it affects you like this."

She sniffled. "Paul...used to say my...my breasts...looked like a cow's."

John fought a rush of anger. How the hell could anyone say that to a woman he was in bed with?

As if sensing his anger, Joss tried to defuse it. "It was a joke. Or it started out as one. I breastfed Taylor for a while. And Paul would joke that I looked like a cow."

"It's not a joke, Joss. It's never a joke when it hurts your feelings." John had been trying not to be jealous of Paul Carter when they'd had their run-in at the mixer; now he felt no jealousy. Just pity, anger and contempt. "Having a child changes everything. I used to wonder how you women do it, make that choice to let your bodies change like that, a choice to go through all the misery of carrying an expanding watermelon in your stomach for nine months, then go through all that pain just to get that watermelon out." His hand came up to her lower belly, traced the wide, pale scar across her lower abdomen where she'd had her c-section. "I can't imagine what this must be like for you, for women. I certainly wouldn't do it. Your bodies are never the same again."

"But it's all worth it. Taylor's worth it." A fond smile. She wasn't thinking about Paul anymore.

"If I were you I'd say it's easy to say from this end of time. I don't know if I could have said that when diapers needed changing."

Joss laughed—and he felt her attention shift, focus back on him. "The great John Reese, afraid of a baby diaper?"

He nodded. "Absolutely. Terrified."

"Didn't you ever want kids of your own?"

A pang of hurt, quickly masked—he didn't want Joss to know how much he'd once wanted children of his own. That dream had died. But he did owe Joss some truth... "I did, once. Not now."

Joss saw a flash of the hurt in John's eyes before he masked it—she'd gotten too close to him now not to be able to 'read' him. And she was forcibly reminded of the photograph hidden in the Bible on the bookshelf in the living room—John and Jessica. Yes, their children would have been lovely. And with John for a father—if how he was handling Taylor was any indication—they would have been good kids. Yes, she really wished life had been kinder to him.

But that was then, there was nothing she could do about it now. She grinned mischievously as she sat up, then straddled him as he rolled over onto his back, and at her grin, the darkness behind his eyes eased back to the hungry lust they both were feeling at the moment. And she knew it, too; he could see the light in her eyes, feel the hunger in her as she took his erection in her hands.

By the time she claimed his lips with her own again, he knew she wasn't thinking about her ex-husband anymore.

* * *

Silly. So silly.

Paul had no place in her mind, in the same bedroom, as John. No comparison. Yes, both men had flaws. But John's flaws she could live with. Paul's...well, she could have lived with his character flaws if those flaws hadn't hurt their son. But it was done, long over, and she was here, with John.

John was so different from Paul. Face, form, character, manner. Everything. Paul had been gorgeous when she'd first met him; lean, muscled, authoritative—she'd found that sexy. John, too, was lean, muscled—hell, yeah, she was looking at them now—but while he could be authoritative, he also respected her enough to step back and let her make her own decisions, her own mistakes—and he knew when she needed help and would step in even if she didn't think she needed him. It hadn't escaped her notice that Harry Morgan had never again even spoken to her after his prank on her at the precinct had gone wrong and Reese had straightened him out. She'd told John she didn't want him getting involved, but after the firecracker incident, John had done it anyway. He never told her exactly what he did, but Morgan had avoided her after that—and she was thankful for that.

And John was gorgeous. She hadn't known this was what was hiding under the dirty clothes and wild hair and beard back at the precinct the night of John's subway fight with Anton, but when she'd first seen him after Finch had gotten hold of him, she'd been delighted—and amazed. He sure cleaned up pretty...and in the years since their first meeting, she'd leaned that he really was as beautiful under the skin as he was on top of it. And she'd never had the courage to make a move on him. Their jobs decreed they came from two different words, and besides, there was Zoe. And for her, there'd been Cal. She'd liked Cal, but she understood now that he'd been more of a distraction for her, a way for her to avoid facing her feelings—and her undeniable attraction—for a man she'd felt she had no right to, a man she'd thought would never feel the same.

And then last year things had changed—from the day Dyana Spencer's body had been found at the abandoned railroad depot, up through Walker's kidnap of her, John following her into the Catskills to rescue her, and then she'd reciprocated when Walker and Simmons kidnapped John and she'd made the ultimate sacrifice to get him out. For the first month or so she hadn't been able to think of anything except her own physical condition—but as time took the edge off that memory, she'd finally been able to look outside herself and see John beside her, helping her, and there'd been a little tremor of fear in her that when he looked at her, all he'd remember was that she'd deliberately let another man take her body.

But in the months since the incident, she slowly came to realize he didn't see her like that. She wondered if that thought had even crossed his mind at all. All he could see was that she'd sacrificed herself to save him, something he did every day—put himself in danger to save someone else, someone he didn't even know and would likely never see again—but that no one had ever done for him. Despite the fact that he could sometimes come across as hard, cold, and uncaring, she knew him well enough by now to know that was just a front. Life hadn't been kind to him; the other women in his life—Jessica and Kara Stanton, to a greater extent, than Zoe—had hurt him emotionally by rejecting who and what he was, and so from that perspective, he'd been emotionally abused, too, just slightly more subtly than Paul had hurt her. And that uncaring had been a front to hide just how much that rejection had hurt him. He was a deeply caring, sensitive man.

For him—and, to a certain extent, for Joss herself—they knew better than most people did that risking one's heart was harder than risking your life, and so the fact that he'd found someone who would do both for him, and she'd found him willing to do both for her…it had created a bond that Walker's callous cruelty hadn't been able to break, a faith in each other that she wondered if anything could shake. After everything that had happened to them over the last year, she couldn't see anything that could possibly happen that would be able to break them apart.

She lifted her head now, looked at him. Those incredible blue eyes, dark now with desire and pure male hunger, gazed back at her, and there was enough darkness there, and strength in his arms as he pulled her up to straddle his hips, for her to know that John Reese was in bed with her. Not just 'John', with his gentle caring and consideration; not just 'Reese', all lust and need and male hunger; but a mixture of both; the man in front of her finally letting go of the walls that separated his darker emotions from his lighter ones; finally becoming emotionally whole. "Want you," he growled.

"I want you too." And she let go of her own darker side, let her own hunger and desire come through as she leaned forward, captured his lips with hers.

His lips parted; she bit his lower lip. Not hard, just the lightest bit of intense sensation; he sucked in a sharp breath, and she felt his back arch, hips rising. She put her hands on either side of his hips. "Down, boy," she growled into his mouth.

"Joss…" he hissed, a hint of anger in his voice. "Can't tease without paying a price…"

She grinned at him. "Really…" and she lowered her head, nipping his collarbone. Sharp enough to cause a tiny bit of hurt, now, and he hissed again, his back arching involuntarily. "And you're going to make me pay…how, exactly?"

"I'm going to—" and he stared, dumbfounded, at his wrists, handcuffed to the bed above his head. She'd moved so quickly, using her own body as a distraction, that he hadn't even heard the click.

"You're going to what?" She straddled him, grinning wickedly. "I didn't hear you."

He looked at her—and there was definitely a wild darkness in his gaze, a darkness she had come to associate with 'Reese'—a predatory sharpness. "You're going to regret this," came out in a low growl. And Jesus, but that growl made her even hotter.

She smiled. "From where I'm sitting, you really aren't going to be able to do anything about that threat, Mr. Reese. So just sit back and enjoy this." She rose up on her knees, now, positioned herself over him, and started to lower herself.


	10. Chapter 10: Truth Hurts

**Chapter 10: Truth Hurts**

He felt the change in her body, the sudden rigidity in her muscles, the tension in her body, even before he heard her sharp gasp. Intimately acquainted now with every last subtle nuance of her face and body, he knew immediately that she was in pain, and the haze of desire was washed away in a moment of sharpened focus. "Joss. What's wrong?"

"I...oh...I don't know," she gasped through gritted teeth.

"You're in pain. Get off, Joss, don't hurt yourself," he managed to get out through gritted teeth. He could tell something wasn't right; she was tight, and her internal muscles were spasming involuntarily with pain. His traitorous body, however, didn't understand and didn't care. And he was absolutely not going to come while she was in pain.

She grimaced, gasped, as she lifted herself off him, and he felt terrible as he watched her carefully lower herself to the mattress, wincing. "Let me up, Joss." She reached over to her nightstand, grabbed the handcuff keys, and released him. He sat up, ignoring his own body's frustrated desire. "Let me see, Joss. You were tighter around me than I ever felt before, and I could feel you in pain." Everything looked normal from where he was. "No blood, no tearing. How do you feel?"

She was frowning, eyes distant as she took stock of her body. "Still throbbing, but no actual pain now." She looked at him, and tears filled her eyes. "John, I'm so sorry…I ruined it…for you…"

He shook his head at her in loving exasperation. "You didn't 'ruin' anything, Joss. Stop blaming yourself for everything, okay?" he sat back. "This wasn't your fault. You couldn't help this. Why say sorry?"

"Paul…we had rough sex one night. I was sore in the morning. When he wanted it again the next night, I told him I was still sore. He got mad at me for 'making excuses'." She looked at him pleadingly. "I promise I'm not making excuses, John. I really do want you. I just…I don't know what's wrong with me."

John had to force himself not to clench his fists, had to fight down the fury he felt at Paul Carter. He was trying, so hard, not to be angry at Joss's ex, but the more he knew about the guy, the more he just wanted to go and pound some sense into Carter. He had to keep telling himself it wouldn't do any good; what had happened between Joss and Paul was long done and over with and he could just thank God that Joss had gotten out of the marriage before she'd died or been irreparably physically and mentally damaged by the man, but Jesus, it was hard fighting down the impulse to go hunt Carter down and punch him every time he saw additional evidence of the emotional abuse Paul had inflicted on Joss. "Did he still insist even after you refused?" And then he shook his head. "Never mind. Forget I asked. It's none of my business."

Joss didn't say anything—but her ducked head, her sudden inability to look him in the eye, told John everything he needed to know. Instead, he said, "I know you're not making excuses, Joss, I could feel you hurting. Call your doctor tomorrow."

"It was probably nothing, John. I just wasn't ready."

He folded his arms. "I'm not touching you again until you talk to your doctor."

She tried to protest. "It's not that big a deal, John."

"Yes. It is. Joss, you're too willing to ignore yourself and what you need, want and feel, to focus on what other people want and need from you. I'm not going to be another person in a long line of people standing in front of you asking for something from you. It's okay if it's Taylor; he's your son. It's even okay, up to a point, if it's your job—that's why I put up with you bringing paperwork home. I'm not happy about it, but if that's the price I have to pay for having you home a little faster than if you stayed at the precinct and filled out reports, I'll take having you home where I can make sure it doesn't monopolize all of your time, and I can make sure you take time out to rest, eat, relax a little.

"But it's not okay if it's me. And it wasn't okay that it was Paul. When two people make a commitment to each other, Joss, it should be two-sided—and from what I've heard from both you and Taylor, Paul was just another child that you had to coddle and take care of—and when you couldn't, or he felt you didn't do exactly _what_ he wanted you to do, exactly the _way_ he wanted it done, he threw temper tantrums like a spoiled brat. Except he was a lot bigger and had the capacity to hurt you physically when he did it—and he knew it and he took full advantage of it."

She hadn't been able to look at him as he talked, and her silence told him she understood what he was saying and knew it was the truth. He softened his voice, but kept talking; she had avoided thinking about all of this consciously, avoided blaming any of this on Paul and instead had carried this for too long on her own shoulders. Time for that to end. She had to put some of the blame where it rightly belonged—on Paul Carter's shoulders. John hadn't been sure, before last night, how much of Joss's insecurities had been due to Paul Carter, but now that he'd met the bastard, he could see exactly why Joss thought the way she did, why she had so many insecurities when it came to her relationship with him. Not that John himself was the most emotionally mature person on the planet—but he was better than Paul Carter.

"You don't see yourself as a victim, Joss. You have this mentality that 'if it happens to me, it's my fault.' And that's not true. Especially when it came to Paul's abuse." He saw her open her mouth, probably to protest, and he laid a finger on her lips to silence her as he cupped her chin in his hands, making her look into his eyes, to see the truth of what he was saying. "You don't look at it as abuse. You don't see yourself as an abuse victim. For God's sake, Joss, you have never even admitted to yourself that Paul raped you—you still call it 'a night of rough sex.' But from where I'm sitting, that's exactly what it was. Emotional and mental abuse. Physical abuse. Spousal rape. Even your son, watching this happen far too young, recognizes it for what it is. When we were in the car and Taylor told me about this, I could see in his eyes, he truly hated his father for what he did to you. He's very protective of you—I'm sure you've noticed.

"I'm glad you have Taylor. Because having him opened your eyes to what was happening and even if you still blamed yourself for the failure of your marriage, you at least got out. You got out before you died—because I'm positive if you'd stayed, Paul would have killed you." A vision of Jessica rose to the forefront of his mind, and he had to swallow hard at the pain that memory caused. "I never, ever want you to look at me the same way. I never, ever want you to be afraid of me. I will never, ever put my desires before your needs. So I refuse to touch you until you have a chance to talk to your doctor."

Joss blinked hard; a fat tear rolled down her cheek. "You're right about all of it. I did blame myself. Kept thinking I'd done something wrong; kept thinking if I did something different maybe Taylor would still have a father."

"But he wouldn't still have his mother. No matter what you did or didn't do differently, he wouldn't still have a mother. In fact, he might not still have a father—Carter might have gone to jail for killing you. Then where would Taylor be?" He swallowed hard at the thought of what that scenario would have done to the young man he'd come to know, like, and respect over the last year. "You did the best you could, Joss, and I'm proud of you, but you have to stop blaming yourself for what happened. Paul Carter was an adult, too, in the same relationship, and he's obviously not blaming himself for any of that happening—I saw that this evening. He's childishly willing to let you continue blaming yourself for what happened to your marriage, rather than take responsibility for –and own up to—what he did to make that marriage end. " He looked at her. "And even if you don't want to admit to yourself the truth of what I'm trying to tell you, then for my peace of mind please call your doctor. I never, ever want to hurt you. I thought…the night Aleksa drugged me, I thought I'd hurt you. I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror to shave for the week following that night—I hated the person looking back at me."

She leaned forward, laid a gentle hand on his cheek. "I'll call the doctor tomorrow."

"Promise?" he bought his hand up to hers, feeling the soft skin on the back of her hand under his own rough, calloused palms.

"I promise." Her hand left his cheek, turned to twine fingers with his. They lay down on the bed, still holding hands. His desire was gone—he couldn't satisfy himself at the cost of her own pain; the very thought made him cringe inside, and he would never understand how Paul Carter had managed that feat. All he wanted, now, was to hold her; he'd told her a lot of brutal truths this evening that she hadn't wanted to face herself, and he didn't want her to feel that he loved her any the less for being unable to admit any of this consciously to herself.

* * *

She wanted to hate him for telling her the things she hadn't wanted to admit to herself, but she couldn't. He'd simply been honest with her, honest about what he saw and what he knew and she knew he was right, deep down. Paul had always been good at making himself seem blameless for everything, manipulating her into feeling guilty whenever something went wrong, and she hadn't even realized she'd unconsciously started automatically apologizing for everything that went wrong.

And Taylor—oh, Taylor. Her precious, precious little boy. She had wondered, when he refused to talk to the counselors at school about how he felt about the divorce—wondered what he really thought, what he really felt. Had wondered what he really remembered of their marriage. But he'd never talked to them, never talked to her either. She didn't know he'd talked to anyone—until John. She still didn't know how much he'd actually told John; and, after seeing the relationship developing between her two boys, she suspected that neither one would tell her. That was okay, though; she trusted John to tell her if something were really wrong, if something was really bothering Taylor; they weren't quite father-son, but more of a mentor and friend; she'd let them have their little secrets.

But that was despite John's emotional immaturity—something she'd seen change over the last year. He'd been so tightly compartmentalized when she'd first met him; cold, ruthless and calculating one moment, gentle and warm and funny the next. It was almost like he had a split personality, really; and she'd read, somewhere, that these split personalities were a result of some massive traumatic event, either physical or emotional. She wondered what it was…but at the same time, there was nothing she could do about it now. Her ultimatum to him a few months ago, right before Robinson and HR had gifted Tony Walker with a new identity and free rein to take her out of the equation, had shocked him. Although he'd told her—and Sam—that he didn't know how to be himself, that he needed her help to figure out how to be simply who he was, the simple act of asking her to help him figure himself out had started breaking down the barriers—and then Walker's kidnap of him, torturing him in that dingy warehouse on Canal, had broken something inside John. She guessed that he'd become 'Reese' to try and withstand what Walker and Robinson did to him—whatever they'd done; he hadn't talked to her, really talked to her, about that night—but in the end 'Reese's' anger and ruthlessness and coldness hadn't been enough to sustain him, and only the fact that 'John' loved her had gotten him through it.

And only the fact that he loved her had gotten her through Walker's brutality and the weeks of agony afterward as her torn body tried to heal itself. She would never forget lying helpless and paralyzed on the floor of the warehouse, looking at him looking back at her, love and pain in his eyes, his gaze begging her silently to _hold on, just hold on_…and that had given her the strength to withstand what Walker had done until Sam's drug had worn off enough for her to be able to defend herself. She would never forget the weeks of pain afterward; the first few days she'd either been drugged senseless or screaming in agony. She'd never forget the day he'd brought her home from the hospital; she'd been too exhausted, in too much pain to care about much, but she had noticed John, Harold and Taylor had cleaned her house up for her. And she'd never forget that he'd taken her medals out of the trash where she'd thrown them, knowing someday she'd regret throwing them away and not wanting her to live with that regret. They actually hung on the wall of her bedroom, now; her NYPD Purple Shield next to her Army Purple Heart. She'd bought the case for her Purple Heart at Christmas, the same time she'd bought John the case for his Purple Heart and Special Forces commendations, and there was just enough room in the case to fit her Purple Shield next to it.

"You know, maybe, someday, if we're lucky, you can hang your case with your medals in it right next to mine." She toyed with the stainless steel dog tag pendant between her bare breasts, her first initial with John's rank behind it; a subtle way to carry him around with her even as he carried around his initial with her rank behind it.

"About that…" He turned on his side, looking at her, and she rolled over to look at him. "I was thinking…can we exchange?"

She stared at him. "But, John…that's yours."

"It's the same chunk of metal and fabric that yours is. Outside, they're identical. But…yours is yours, and mine is mine, and well, I was thinking…I'd like to have yours if you'd have mine."

It was silly. But it was also romantic. No one but they two would ever know whose medal was in which case. Not even Taylor. A secret just between the two of them. But she would have something very important to him, and he would have something that was important to her, and yes, someday, if they were very, very lucky, maybe they would be able to hang their medal boxes next to each other on a wall somewhere. Maybe even put them in the same case?

And until that happened, she would keep his for him, as he would keep hers. "Okay."

His was in his room, just down the hall; she'd found it telling that everything he considered personally important to him was now in that third bedroom, and the apartment now held few, if any, personal items. His way of moving in with her while still trying to accede to her wishes that he have his own space. It touched her even as it made her wonder, secretly, what having him move in with them full-time, completely, would do to their relationship, as she watched him stroll out of her room, down the hall to the third bedroom, and return with his medal box. In solemn silence they opened their boxes and exchanged Purple Hearts, and for long moments John stared at his box after Joss's medal lay securely ensconced in it. "Thank you, Joss. I have to admit, when you said you got something for me for Christmas, this wasn't what I thought I'd be getting." Yeah, it had completely floored him. Despite the government burning him, his military medals and decorations had been his most precious possessions, something he'd clung to and kept with him even during those dark days living as a homeless bum on the streets of New York. He could have pawned them or sold them for money to buy his next drink, but he'd never been able to bring himself to do that. Then one of the first things he'd done when Harold had gifted him with the Baxter Street apartment was find a hiding place there for his medals. When Joss had presented him with the handsome solid cherrywood case for them at Christmas, he had been surprised that she would even know he still had them-and stunned that she would somehow understand how important they were to him.

A smile twitched her lips. "Well, when you handed me the bag outside the Rockefeller skating rink, I wasn't expecting to get tools and knives. Guys never think to buy girls cool toys like that. Guys usually buy girls jewelry and lingerie—but they're really buying those things for themselves, because they want to see their woman wearing the things they chose for them. It's a subtle form of control and possession. Paul bought stuff, particularly jewelry, not because I liked it, but because he liked seeing me wear what he bought. Whenever we went out he would insist I wear something he bought me. And he liked diamonds. I don't even like diamonds, I like colored stones."

John filed that away for future reference, then thought about what she'd said. "I guess you're right. We buy those things for you because we like thinking of you in them. But Joss—not all those purchases are a means of control. Maybe they were that, for Paul—but not for me. If I ever buy you something, it's because I saw it and thought you'd look beautiful in it, or I thought you'd like it." A wicked smile. "If you want to please me by wearing something—you'd wear nothing but this all the time." His gaze roved over her full, bare breasts.

She turned pink…then giggled. "You know, you don't have to be in me for us to enjoy sex…"

His heart nearly stopped. "Um…" was all he could get out.

She plucked his medal box out of his hands, put both boxes on the night table, then pushed him back against the pillows. The next half an hour was spent learning every last intimate inch of him, what felt good, what felt great, what felt downright sinful—and in the end, he found out that no, with Joss, he didn't have to be inside her to feel satiated.

And then she found out the same thing, as John discovered exactly how much fun her full, oh-so-sensitive breasts could be. Not a cow, oh no…a beautiful, sensuous, desirable woman.


	11. Chapter 11: Surveillance

**Chapter 11: Surveillance**

July 8, 2006

"You'd think that a terrorist would have a rather more exciting life," John commented as he speared another piece of the excellent Tandoori chicken he and Kara had ordered for dinner.

"Stop it, Reese," Kara hissed, her brown eyes going cold. "Just stop it, okay?"

"What?" John stared at her, mystified.

"Look. I know you don't like the orders we were given. I know you think he doesn't look like a threat. Stop telling me that. I got it. You keep telling me that, I'll keep telling you—I don't give a damn what you think. This is what we've been told to do. So that's what we're going to do."

John barely kept a hold on his temper. He hadn't meant his comment to be an insinuation or a comment on their assignment. It had been a comment only, meant to get Kara to lighten up a little. "I didn't mean it that way," he said haltingly. "We've been following him around all day and he doesn't really do anything exciting." Or suspicious.

In fact, John couldn't imagine anyone living a _less_ exciting lifestyle.

Mahesh Rao had woken up at 5:30 in the morning and gone for a run—John had left Kara grumbling in their hotel room and enjoyed the mile and a half jog through India's streets. He had taken that opportunity to see the city even as he kept a close eye on Rao, who, blissfully unconscious of the death shadowing him, had also enjoyed the run.

Rao had returned to the house he shared with his sister, her husband, and their daughter—his niece. There'd been a cheerful, happy babble of voices as three adults and one small child had run about the house trying to get ready for the day; the Italian father had left the house first, heading off to the embassy building. Rao had followed next, with an adorably engaging kiss goodbye to his niece on the front doorstep; and then, last out of the house had been the little girl Emmy and her mother. Watching all of this domestic bustle had reminded John forcibly of his old dreams of someday marrying Jessica and a regular job that would let both of them see each other every night; to wake up next to her every morning, give her a kiss before going to work, and, although he wasn't sure he was father material, he'd idly wondered one day what having a child would have felt like. To have someone call him 'Daddy'. A little girl with his blue eyes? Or a little boy with Jessica's blond hair? It was a thought he'd kept buried during his years with the military, had surfaced briefly that fateful day in September, 2001, and now...no more than a dream. Not as long as he worked for the CIA.

He wondered if Kara had ever had those dreams. Had she ever wanted a little girl with her own dark hair, or a little boy with her own brown eyes? Had she ever wanted a home, a permanent address, husband, children, a steady job? Had she ever thought about carpooling to a ballet class, or a basketball practice? He supposed she must have, maybe, once, but looking at her now, he couldn't imagine her ever being happy in a setting like that. She was cold, ruthless, callous, and efficient, and she was trying to mold him into a copy of herself.

That had never been more evident than when she'd ordered him to kill the little girl two days ago.

Every fiber of his being rebelled at the idea. He couldn't kill a child—not wouldn't, _couldn't_. He knew he was physically unable to pull the trigger on a gun that would kill a child, unless that child herself was holding a gun on him. And with this child, especially, it seemed unlikely. And yet, Kara had ordered him to kill her. The thought made his stomach tie itself in knots. He hadn't been able to sleep since Kara had made her demand. He'd held her frail body in his arms, seen her lying too still from the bruise on her forehead, and he too had panicked at the thought that she might be dead. It was crazy. He didn't even know her.

He hadn't taken pains to find out her name. Hadn't tried to find out her parents' names. He tuned Kara out when she talked about them. He didn't want to know, he simply did _not_ want to know. He knew he had to kill her, because if he didn't Kara would certainly tell their handler and he would be burned—but he still couldn't take a child's life at the expense of his own. He couldn't bear the thought of carrying her name and her parents' names around with him for the rest of his life—bad enough that he knew he was going to carry guilt for Mahesh Rao's death. Because he knew Kara was going to succeed in killing the man.

They'd split up then; Kara had shadowed Rao to his work, while John followed the mother and the little girl to the child's school. Because the school catered to the children of diplomats and foreign emissaries on permanent or semi-permanent posting to Mumbai, and knowing that diplomats had some powerful enemies, the school's security was impeccable. Cameras inside and outside the building; a member of the school staff met the child's mother at the front door, took the child's hand, and led the little girl in; John spied a keypad next to the door that had a buzzer and a small camera; presumably everyone going into the building had to be ID'd before being buzzed in—and that meant electronic locks on the doors. There was iron mesh over the windows, and John couldn't see how he would get in to get at the girl while she was at school.

And he really couldn't say that he was unhappy about the fact either. The only thing that worried him was that if he told Kara he couldn't get at the girl to kill her, would Kara blow up the entire school just to get one child? As much as he wanted to say that even Kara couldn't be that callous, unfortunately he could see her doing just such a thing.

When he rejoined her, stopped at a coffeehouse watching Rao take a lunch break, she'd asked him "Figured out how to get the girl yet?" He'd hesitated for just a moment, wondering if he should tell her that he couldn't get to her inside the school, then decided to stall Kara. "Working on it," he told her, then salved his conscience. He _was_ working on it, albeit half-heartedly and with no real pleasure—no, he'd suddenly realized, staring at the bottom of his cup—he had no intention of killing the child.

He had been conflicted, had thought about how he'd do it, but now he realized that no matter what Kara told him to do, and even knowing his life potentially hung in the balance if he didn't accomplish the feat—he wouldn't do it. Couldn't do it. He could not save his own life at the expense of an innocent child who would never remember him—and he'd make sure her parents never physically saw him.

He knew he would have to eliminate her as a possible problem for Kara, but that didn't have to mean murder. If he did things right, maybe he could get Kara to think the girl was dead? Rao's second oldest sister was emigrating to America—John suddenly realized this was the perfect avenue out of danger, by emigrating to America with her Aunt and Uncle. If he could convince the girl's parents that she was in danger, maybe they would send her to America with her Aunt and Uncle.

It was an avenue worth exploring.

In the meantime he watched Kara watch Rao, and wondered how he'd live with himself knowing an innocent man was killed and he stood by and did nothing. The thought made him sick—but he couldn't imagine how to get out of it.

A small, cold voice spoke in the back of his head; when he'd first started this gig with the CIA and been assigned to Kara, it had been her voice. Gradually, now, it was becoming his own voice, but a cool, ruthless, alien voice, with little emotion and only coldly calculating thought behind it—the voice belonging to the persona that Kara called 'Reese'. _There's nothing you can do about this. About Rao. Kara will kill him. You'll have to live with that the rest of your life._

_There has to be something! I can't let her kill an innocent man!_ John insisted to himself.

_You're not 'letting' her do anything, _Reese told John scornfully. _She'll do what she wants to do. You can't stop her. There's nothing you can do about Rao. Let Kara focus on him. Your assignment is the girl. So if you really want to thwart Kara, keep the girl safe. Protect her. She's the true innocent in this. And she is worth your life._

And John couldn't argue with 'Reese' on that.

But he still couldn't help a bit of anger at Kara as she snapped at him, now. He'd given into 'Reese's' words, given into the inevitability of Rao's death; now he was just trying to figure out how he'd be able to warn the child's parents, and Kara sniping at him for something he hadn't even meant wasn't helping. But that cool voice inside him, Reese, warned him. _Don't argue with her. She'll take that as a sign of resistance. She'll start trying to find out what you're up to. And she'll burn you herself if she finds out you're trying to save the girl from her. And the girl will still die anyway. You can't win the war against Kara; you can't win the battle for Rao's life. But you can win the battle for the girl's life. Pick battles that you can win._

And John couldn't argue with that either.

Rao got up from the table and headed back to his car. He'd driven the diplomat out to a meeting at a nearby office building, then sat down at this café to have lunch; now he checked his watch, apparently realized the meeting was going to be over soon and he'd better get back on duty, and headed for the car—only to stop suddenly and make a detour to a nearby stand, where a seller was selling brightly-colored children's toys. He looked over the selection carefully, and John had to fight to keep a straight face as Rao picked out a stuffed plush pink unicorn. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind who that unicorn was supposed to be for.

The seller joked with Rao as he dug around for a bag for the stuffed animal. "Must be a special little lady to get this gift."

Rao grinned, teeth flashing whitely in dusky skin. "My niece. She has a test today, an important one. I told her if she did well I would get something special for her. She likes unicorns."

"All little girls do," the seller handed Rao the bag with the stuffed animal in it. "Tell her she's very lucky to have an uncle who loves her like you do."

"I'm lucky to have her. I hope one day when I have children of my own I'm lucky enough to have a little girl like her." Rao took the bag and headed for the car.

John turned to Kara—and if he'd looked just a second later, he would have seen nothing but a bored, disinterested expression. But for just a fleeting moment, there was an odd mix of emotions on Kara's face. Disgust, contempt…but he thought he could detect a hint of…envy?

"If you want a pink unicorn I can get you one," he joked casually, unable to resist needling Kara about it. Maybe she'd had one in her childhood—although, looking at the woman now, he couldn't imagine Kara Stanton playing with dolls and unicorns. He simply couldn't imagine her as being other than she was right now; hard, tough, uncompromising. Focused and businesslike, coolly and calmly rational. No room for emotions, feelings, any of the softer emotions in life. No, he couldn't imagine her as a child playing with pink unicorns.

"Shut up, John. Focus on what you have to do." Cold. Damn, the woman couldn't even joke. "That child is a liability to Rao. He loves her—and that's going to cost her her life. Love's a dangerous thing, Reese. Gets you into trouble. Too bad the kid's never going to learn that—because she won't live to learn that lesson."

She looked at him. "You still have time to learn it. Feelings are liabilities. Love is a liability. Stop thinking about Jessica. That kind of life, that happy suburban domesticity, isn't for people like you and me. You're never going to have that life. After what you've done, you think your Jessica will even want you back? You think any woman out there will want you after what you've done? I read your file when you were assigned to me. She saw the darkness inside you, the killer you try to hide under a veneer of civilization, and that's why she didn't wait for you. No woman wants a cold killer like you. You try to hide Reese, but you can't. He comes out. So stop hiding him and just let him do what we need to do.

"We do what needs to be done, what those little suburban yuppies would never be able to do or have the nerve to do. They don't know what real sacrifice is. None of them have ever given up anything even the slightest bit important to them, never given up anything that even caused them any inconvenience. And they never will. Self-important, wrapped up in their little lives doing something they call work all day that makes no difference to anyone or for anyone. And they come home and have a drink and think they had a good day. You and I, Reese, we know what work is. We know what sacrifice is. We know what a 'good day' really means. They don't. They never will. You and I, we don't belong with them."

"We're better than them." It was a statement, but she answered it with a perfectly straight face.

"Yes. We're better than them. They don't belong with us, and we don't belong with them. Never will. They wouldn't last a minute in our life—and we would be bored with theirs. That's why I told you to forget Jessica."

It still stung as badly as it had the first time Kara had said it.

"Now come on. Looks like he's headed back to pick up the diplomat and then they'll head back to the embassy. We might have a window between the time the diplomat gets dropped off and the time Rao picks up his niece."

"If we catch him in that window then maybe we won't have to kill the girl." He tried not to sound too hopeful, but something must have gotten out, because Kara glared at him with that cold darkness in her eyes.

"Get this straight. The girl needs to go. She saw you in the market when you saved her life. We can't afford to get caught just because 'John' got suckered by a pair of big brown eyes in a little girl's face and kept Reese from doing what he wants to do. Whether she dies with her uncle at the same time, or you take her out later with a bullet or a carefully-constructed accident, neither you nor I are leaving India until she's eliminated. Stop thinking John can weasel out of this, because he can't. I need Reese to kill her—and if John won't let you kill her, then I'll kill her. And then I'll kill you."

She'd never threatened him so blatantly like this; never spoken this bluntly. John felt numb, shocked, as he slid into the seat of the car beside her—she was driving—and sat quietly, trying to absorb what Kara had said. The possibility of the child having seen John was only an excuse—Kara wanted the little girl dead, and she wanted John to kill her. No, not John. Reese. Kara wanted Reese to kill a child. Not John. John she had no use for. She didn't want John.

_But you knew that already._ Reese snapped in John's head. _And she's right. Jessica didn't want your darker side—me—this persona that Kara named Reese. That's why she didn't wait. Kara's right, right about all of it. No one else knows what real sacrifice really is. Jessica, and people like her with their comfortable, ordinary lives would never understand people like you, like Kara. They don't understand that killing is necessary. They'd be shocked, horrified. They'd hate you if they knew what you were and what you'd done. No woman will ever want a killer like you in the same house with them, much less the same bed. Get used to it. Stop feeling lonely and wishing for something you're never going to have. Accept the inevitable. No one wants John. But they want Reese. And Reese can do more good in this world than John can._


	12. Chapter 12: Saturday Morning

**Chapter 12: Saturday Morning**

He blinked in the semi-darkness of the bedroom.

A quick glance at the clock showed it was 5:30 am. The same time he usually woke up. If he was at his apartment, he'd be getting up now, going out for a run, coming back in sweaty for a quick shower before getting dressed and heading out to the Library to see if Harold had any work for him to do today or if there was anything he needed from John. If there was a number, he'd go right to work; if there wasn't, well, lately he'd taken to showing up at Joss's doorstep by seven, throwing together a quick breakfast while she and Taylor scrambled to get ready for their respective days, then gave her a quick kiss as she sailed out the door with Taylor, to drop her son off at school and head off to the precinct. He'd clean up the dishes, and since the act of cooking breakfast usually disclosed the refrigerator was out of something, he'd head out to the closest grocery store and pick up what was needed. Then he'd take Bear to the dog park, run the dog through some basic commands so he wouldn't get rusty, go to the gym and work out, or head back to his apartment to clean and get his weapons ready against the time when he would need them. Or he'd go hunt down Shaw and see if she was planning on getting into any trouble he could cheerfully get involved in.

But he didn't really want to get up and go running this morning. Not this early, anyway. Joss was still asleep beside him, and for the moment, he simply wanted to enjoy being with her. Plus, if he got out of the bed now, he'd likely wake her up...and he wanted to give her a few more minutes to sleep.

He rolled over and looked at her, now. Peaceful. Quiet. A hint of a smile playing around the corner of her lips—a good dream, then. No, he definitely wasn't going to disturb that; she had few good dreams lately, not after Walker and HR's takedown and the nightmarish horror of what had been done to her, what she'd sacrificed to make that happen.

But he'd had nightmares about the whole ordeal, too, and last night's dream had been one of the few in the last few months that hadn't had him waking in a cold sweat, a scream of anger and denial and frustrated rage locked in his throat at the sight of Joss Carter beaten and brutalized. Last night, actually, was the first time he'd thought about Kara Stanton in a while.

_Oh Kara. If you could see me now..._

He still remembered that day in Mumbai, remembered Kara's words. _That kind of life, that happy suburban domesticity, isn't for people like you and me. You're never going to have that life. You think any woman out there will want you after what you've done?_ And for a long time, he thought she'd been right, that he and she were different, and no one would ever want a trained killer like him anywhere close to them.

_You and I, Reese, we know what work is. We know what sacrifice is. We know what a 'good day' really means. They don't. They never will. _And, even more peripherally, she'd said that people who lived ordinary lives would never sacrifice anything important to them or that inconvenienced them in any way at all in order to save someone else.

But in the years since, in the work he did for Harold and the life he'd slowly built with Joss, he'd learned that self-sacrifice wasn't exclusive to him, to Kara, to the kind of work they did and the people they were. He'd seen plenty of examples of it all around him, but it had never really hit him until the moment Joss had walked into that warehouse on Canal and sacrificed her body to save him. He knew she was terrified; he'd believed that that fear would keep her away. He remembered her up on Panther Mountain telling him she would rather die than have Walker touch her again. And so he'd been completely unprepared to see her walk into that warehouse willingly, a lamb walking into the lion's den to save…him.

She'd opened her life, her heart, her soul to him, had given him something that, after Kara's cutting, harsh words, he'd taken for granted he would never have. Someone who loved him unconditionally.

Well, not unconditionally. Joss's condition had been that he stop splitting himself, compartmentalizing himself. Unlike Jessica, unlike Kara, unlike Zoe and practically everyone in his adult life, even Harold to some extent, he'd finally found someone who didn't want him to be only what _they_ wanted him to be. Harold needed Reese as his fixer, Zoe wanted Reese in bed and by her side when she was in trouble, but she never wanted to deal with the man named John. Jessica had been the only one who wanted John—but she couldn't deal with 'Reese'.

Kara had wanted Reese. And John realized now that it had been Kara's demands that had first led him to split himself, to become Reese and tuck 'John' away as another personality.

And Joss, with her simple humanity and her love for him, had undone that split. In ways that he wasn't sure she consciously understood, consciously knew. When Walker had kidnapped her, it had been both Reese and John looking for her out there; it had been both of them holding her that night in the cave on Panther Mountain. It had been both Reese and John that night in his apartment crying in a mix of guilt and relief that the woman they both loved was going to be all right. John was the one who'd gone skating with her over Christmas, but it had been Reese in bed with her that night at the gym after Aleksa had drugged him. He'd been so afraid of Reese and what Reese was capable of doing to Joss that he hadn't once considered that she had been willing too.

Looking back on it now, he was a little ashamed of his behavior that morning. He hadn't stopped to think about the fact that she was still there in the morning, and she wouldn't have if he'd actually raped her. Hadn't listened to Sam when she tried to explain it to both himself and Harold—something Shaw had given both of them the silent treatment for over nearly a week, until she found John collapsed on the sidewalk in Queens. He hadn't even listened to Joss herself—hadn't given himself a chance to listen to her because he'd refused to take her calls, refused to talk to her. So she'd gotten his attention the only way she could—and she'd delivered an ultimatum.

She wanted both John and Reese, and she wasn't going to settle for half of him. She wasn't happy with the status quo started by Jessica, established by Kara, continued by Zoe and Harold—the split personality he'd developed because he'd tried so hard to be what everyone around him wanted to be. Joss had never done that, herself; she had never asked for him to be anything or anyone other than who he was. She'd insisted on him just being himself.

But he hadn't really understood until the two days in the warehouse. He'd used Reese's coldness, ruthlessness, anger, as a barrier between himself and the pain Walker and Simmons were inflicting on him, but in the end, that hadn't been enough, and the only thing that had gotten him through that agony, intact, without giving them the information they wanted, was his love for Joss Carter. John's love for her was stronger than Reese's anger and rage, and in the end that was the one factor that had made a difference in whether they had broken him. And it had been a factor in whether she would fully recover from what they'd done to her. He couldn't imagine Paul Carter being with her, helping her through the torturous days and weeks of her recovery that had followed; as she tried to heal her torn body, as she tried to come to grips with what had happened to her and stop blaming herself. Yes, she had made the choice to walk in there, but no one had expected her to be injured so badly. She hadn't known that she had old internal injuries left inside her from her ex-husband, and that those old injuries would be aggravated by Walker's assault. If Paul Carter had been beside her, would he have done what John had done? Would he have carried her into the house, taken care of everything while she lay in bed, rested; held her as she cried from nightmares, soothed her as she vomited from the various medications she'd been taking for pain and for infection? Would he have understood just what an effort it had taken her to be present for the medal ceremony with the NYPD, would he have understood what an achievement her efforts had been?

And would he have been understanding and concerned for her when she'd been in pain last night, would he have put aside his own wants, as John had done, to avoid hurting Joss?

Joss probably would have liked to say 'yes' to all of that, but John knew, after meeting Paul Carter for the first time at the business mixer last night, that the answer was an unequivocal 'no.' No, Paul Carter would have done none of those things. His needs, wants, and desires always came first, and even if Joss had been in pain last night Carter wouldn't have cared. Liv Benson herself had seen it too, when she'd told John that if Joss were still with Paul, her chances of a full mental, emotional, and physical recovery would have been zero.

"Good morning," came a sleepy voice, and John was startled out of his own thoughts as he looked down. Joss was awake, blinking sleepily but awake, and looking up at him with a gentle smile of drowsy contentment.

"Good morning to you, too," he said, smiling down at her as he brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead. "Sleep well?"

"Like a rock. And no bad dreams." She rolled onto her back, stretched lazily. "Quiet Saturday morning."

"Just for the moment," he said. "Hopefully, it'll stay quiet until we've had a chance to have breakfast."

"Breakfast. Mmm. Breakfast sounds good." And then she looked up at him. "Having you for breakfast sounds better."

His mind threatened to tumble into the gutter, and he had to restrain himself firmly. "Not until you talk to your doctor about what happened last night."

She looked crestfallen. "I thought you'd forget about it by now."

"Seriously?" he snorted. "Joss, it would be impossible for me to forget anything when it comes to your health and your safety. I will not—I refuse—to put my wants and desires before your health and your safety. You do too much of that already on your own." He leaned over, dropped a kiss on top of her head. "Do you have to work today?"

She sighed. "Yeah. Twelve to eight—second shift."

"But we have the morning, right? When do we have to pick Taylor up from your mother's?"

She snorted. "He'll sleep until ten in the morning. And my mother will let him. She'll call me when he's awake." Then she looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "'We'?"

"Yes, we. I want to find out how his night went."

A slow, merrily wicked smile. "He's got you suckered too, doesn't he."

"No. I like him. Both for himself and as he's an extension of you." He smiled. "I really honestly never saw myself as a mentor to a boy, but he's a good kid." He sat up. "And I'm in love with his Mom, too, that helps. But mostly because he's a good kid."

"Yeah, he is." Joss gave a huge yawn—and then lunged toward the bathroom. "Dibs on the bathroom!"

Laughing, he lunged after her—and then there was a tussle at the door to the bathroom, when they both got jammed. Joss ended up laughing herself silly as she leaned against him, feeling his chest vibrate with his own chuckle.

When she started to slip out of her clothes 'Just a quick shower get this hairspray out of my hair and this makeup off,' he couldn't resist slipping into the shower with her. No sex, although Little John was definitely interested; he just enjoyed feeling his hands gliding over her warm, smooth skin under the hot water of the shower. She leaned into the caress, and her soft moan of contentment almost undid him completely; he loved that sound. He soaped his hands, let them slide over every inch of her, from the radiating scar lines from the hole that long-ago landmine had blown in her side, to the pale scars on the insides of her arms from Walker's paracord ties; to the scars on the backs of her hands from Walker's crucifixion, and the wide pale scar across her lower belly where she'd had to have Taylor cut out of her. And he dropped to his knees in the shower, then, left a line of wet, hot kisses along that pale scar line; kissed every scar on her body , each one a mute reminder of the character of the incredible woman who now held his heart.

And then she returned the favor; small, soft, but still capable hands sliding slickly over his skin, a massage of the muscles of his arms, torso and back from hands that he now knew from experience were magic and could get those muscles to relax. He leaned against the wall of the shower as she worked those magic hands all over him, and they finished their shower with a gentle, passionate kiss.

He grabbed a set of casual clothes from the bottom drawer of her dresser, then left her to get dressed as he headed off to the kitchen, suddenly ravenous. By the time she walked into the kitchen, dressed, her gold shield and gun hanging casually from the belt he'd bought her at Christmas, he had scrambled eggs sizzling merrily in a pan, thick hot toast generously spread with butter sitting on a hot plate on the kitchen island, and maple sausage sitting on another plate with a paper towel covering them. He took a moment to glance at her admiringly. She'd lost a lot of weight during the fiasco surrounding Walker and HR's takedown, and part of the reason he'd taken to cooking breakfast in the morning was to build her back up to a healthy weight, which she could then turn into muscle at the gym. A doughnut and coffee on her way out the door in the morning wouldn't help her to that goal.

"I love your cooking." Joss declared happily, passionately, as she grabbed a plate. "Oh. Wait. Is some of this going to have to feed that bottomless pit I call my son?"

John chuckled as he turned the heat off under the pan. "No. This is ours. After you and I pick him up, he and I will drop you off, and then we'll have a light lunch before I drop him off at his basketball game. I'll head into the Library, see what kind of trouble Harold's got going, and then I'll pick him up from his game, we'll pick you up from the precinct at eight, and we're going out to dinner tonight, unless you're too tired when you get out, in which case we'll come back here and order in."

"Dinner? Out? Cool, Taylor's never been to 'Ettienne's'."

"No, I was thinking more of somewhere different. It's called Knickerbocker's. Olivia Benson mentioned it as she and Clayton were helping you move in; they're quite familiar with the place and go regularly. She says she always enjoys it when they're there. Good family atmosphere and, as she put it, 'the best burgers in New York'." John grinned. "If Taylor's going to start wearing suits and taking girls on dates, he's going to have to learn the proper way to eat so he won't embarrass the girl he's with. We'll start with places where impeccable manners aren't strictly a necessity, and where messy food is offered just to teach him how to eat neatly, and then just before his junior prom I'll take both of you out to a fancy restaurant so he can get some experience in fine dining."

Joss just stared at him.

"Um…sorry," he said awkwardly, suddenly realizing he hadn't asked her permission to do this first. "I didn't think…would his father want to do this with him?"

Joss shook her head, made a dismissive noise. "No. Definitely not. Paul's manners aren't really all that good, there's not really anything he can teach Taylor. In fact, there are a number of things I_ don't _want him to teach our son." She snagged a piece of toast. "I just…never expected you'd even think about those things—didn't imagine you'd want to show a boy how to fold a napkin."

"It's not just that. It's everything, Joss. From pulling out a chair for the person you're with, to knowing what tableware to use for which course, how to excuse yourself without being indelicate or rude, particularly in an upscale establishment, how to lean elbows on a table without being awkward or clumsy. It's not necessary for someone to know those things—you can get through life without knowing them—but if he ever wants to mingle successfully in high society he needs to know these things. Paul was out of his element last night. He wasn't comfortable in that room with those brokers and all that money. He didn't know how to act, how to behave. I watched him the rest of the evening and his new girlfriend wasn't happy with him. He was embarrassing her. I don't want Taylor to be that uncomfortable in a social situation, don't want him to feel like he's embarrassing his girlfriends. So I'm going to teach him what he needs to know in order to prevent that happening. You've done a great job with him so far, Joss, and he's a great kid all on his own, but there are just some things he really needs to learn from a man, and if his father can't or won't teach him, someone's going to have to step up. I'm not perfect but better me than nothing."

She looked suddenly uncertain. "Was I…all right?'

He grinned at her. "You were great." Except for her painful embarrassment at Paul Carter's behavior and words to her. But she'd handled that with grace and delicacy and he'd been proud of her. "Okay. Enough stalling." He handed her the cordless phone. "It's nine o'clock. Call your doctor."


	13. Chapter 13: Saturday Afternoon

**Chapter 13: Saturday Afternoon**

_Author's Note: I was only going to post 11 and 12 today, but chapter 12 and 13 really need to be read together, so…enjoy!_

"But John…"

"No 'buts', Joss. Call your doctor."

She frowned. "Not gonna let that go, are you."

"No. I'm not. Just call the doctor, Joss." Well, Sam had said that Joss was the second most stubborn person she'd ever met—John himself coming in a close first. Joss was about to find out just how stubborn he could be. He was not going to budge on this, no matter how she tempted him or how much his own body wanted her. He didn't know how many times Paul Carter had ignored her physical pain after 'a night of rough sex'—he didn't want to know, really; the fact that it happened even once was bad enough—but he was not going to do the same thing to her.

She glared at him for a moment more, then sighed, picked up the phone, and walked over to the refrigerator, checking a piece of paper held to the front with a magnet. John took a quick glance; he'd never noticed what was on that particular piece of paper before, but he'd make note of it now; her precinct's number, Fusco's number, a phone number that had 'Taylor's Pediatrician' written next to it; the phone number to Taylor's school, a few numbers with 'History Teacher' and 'Math Teacher' written next to them, and then at the bottom, Joss's doctor's number.

It must have been a slow day, because in no time at all Joss had someone on the other end of the phone. "Yes, I'm trying to reach Dr. Gibson, please? Not urgent, just a question."

The doctor was apparently available for a quick phone consult. "Yes, Dr. Gibson, this is Jocelyn Carter, you did the reconstructive work? I just… I had a question…" she was blushing, John could see a bit of embarrassment, but she plowed on. "I tried to resume a physical relationship with my boyfriend last night and it hurt. I...I need to know if there's something wrong…"

A pause; John watched the frown lines on Joss's face smooth out. "Oh. Okay." A longer pause; the doctor was apparently explaining something to Joss. And then Joss's face flushed a brilliant pink. "Um…I'll take it under advisement. Thank you Dr. Gibson. I really appreciate it." And she hung up, then sat on the kitchen stool for a moment shaking her head.

"Joss?"

"…yes?" She sounded distant.

John got worried. "Joss? Are you okay?"

"Um. Yeah." She blinked, focused on him, but the expression on her face was momentarily unreadable. "The doctor says I'm fine. There was, um, a lot of…scar tissue…built up inside me from when…when I was married. It was thick enough to…to sort of deaden the nerves. When she did the reconstructive surgery she removed all of it so it wouldn't interfere…with what I felt in bed anymore, but removing all that also tightened…me up inside."

"Does she advise that you not…" John couldn't imagine a sexy, passionate woman like Joss not being able to enjoy a physical relationship anymore. It hurt just to think about.

"No, no, she…um…she encouraged me. But she said…my body has to relearn how to stretch again." Her face flushed pink.

"I don't understand." John wished Shaw were here. Maybe she'd be able to explain whatever this was, because Joss was so embarrassed she could barely get words out.

"I…she recommended…toys." The last word was so low John had to lean in to hear her.

Toys. John's brain skidded to a halt in mid-thought and tumbled straight into the gutter. Jesus God, but the thought of Joss…his pants were suddenly several sizes too tight.

"I…It's not…" Joss swallowed hard, and he forgot his own lust as he saw the pain and pleading in her eyes. "John, please…it's not that I don't want you, I really do, I just…"

"Wait a minute." He stared at her suspiciously damp eyes, unable to figure out why she was upset. "Joss, why are you so upset? You think I'm going to suddenly get jealous because I think you prefer…a chunk of plastic…over me?"

He was being sarcastic, and so was unprepared for Joss to drop her eyes, swallow hard, and nod. "Yes…aren't you? Paul…did. I had…some…and I got rid of them when we moved in together because he…got angry when he saw them."

He stepped close to the stool, hugged her tight, unable to speak. He really wanted to go hit Paul Carter now, he really did. Yet another example of the emotional abuse Joss had taken. How insecure had Paul Carter been, to feel threatened by something like that?

But he forced his anger aside, buried it deep. He'd think about it later. For now, he had to assure the woman he loved that no, the thought didn't make him jealous.

"If you honestly think I'd be jealous of a chunk of plastic, Joss, you don't know me that well at all." He stepped back, cupped her chin in his hand, forced her to look into his eyes. "Truth? The thought of you…" Could she not see just how hot that mental image was making him?

Joss hiccupped suddenly, then started to giggle. "You don't have to say anymore, John, I can see it," she said, and he looked down and flushed. His pants were tented. "I just…I didn't want you to think that I…didn't want you. I do. I just…Dr. Gibson says I have to stretch myself out a little first. Not much. Just a little."

The thought of her body wrapped tightly around him made him even harder. The thought of her enjoying him inside her was even better—because the doctor had said she'd removed the accumulated scar tissue. Joss was going to be so much more sensitive…and enjoy sex with him so much more. He'd make sure of it. "I'm going to enjoy every minute of it," he said, hugging her tightly one more time before going back to the stove—where thankfully he'd already turned off the heat or the eggs would have been burned. "Okay. We do have to get going, so let's finish breakfast and hit the road."

* * *

"So how was your night?" John asked as Taylor tossed his duffel bag onto the floor of the back seat, then settled himself into the seat of the GTO and buckled his seatbelt.

"Oh it was great!" Taylor grinned hugely. "We did get a chance to dance and Manny came with Angela—she goes to another school so I wasn't sure she was going to come and oh, Mom, you'll never believe this—Lia and I tied Kylie and Steve in votes for Valentine's Sweethearts!" Without pausing for breath, he turned to John. "And thanks for the dancing lesson because we didn't know we were going to get picked but the couple who are elected sweethearts have to lead the last dance and fortunately Lia knew how to dance." He grinned. "It was so easy. There's nothing to it."

John had to fight to keep a straight face. "So I guess you had a good evening, right?"

"Yeah. We did. We grabbed milkshakes at the burger joint two blocks from school on the way back and had Lia back at her Aunt and Uncle's exactly at eleven—Manny's older brother Miguel is really good about that—and then we grabbed a burger and ate before Miguel dropped me off at Grandmom's at midnight." He grinned. "Hey, maybe you can carpool us for prom?"

"I'll try to clear my schedule. No promises though. When is it?"

"Three months. In May. Right before school lets out for the summer. You gotta help me find a nice suit for prom. Pleeese."

That reminded him of his conversation with Joss—the earlier part. "Yes, we'll get you a nice suit. And then I'm taking you and your Mom out to an upscale restaurant so you can get a feel for how to handle a fine dining date."

"Really? Cool. 'Cause the prom's going to be in a hotel ballroom this year—Kylie's Dad works for one of the big hotels downtown and he scored this year's senior class a discount on the room rental. So it's going to be a real ballroom in a real hotel with, like, real food." Then he thought. "Um…do you think we can bring Lia along with us? I mean, her parents are with the Italian embassy and all but she was real little when she moved here with her Aunt and Uncle and I'm sure she doesn't remember much so maybe she' d feel less awkward if Mom could show her how to handle being at the hotel for prom."

Joss shot John a 'see what you started' look across the seat, but John was having way too much fun to care. "Yeah. We can. Provided she can get her Aunt and Uncle's permission to go with us—or she can email her parents and ask them. If need be you can even send her a picture of your Mom and you that she can email to them so they know who she's going with."

"That's a great idea! Hey, Mom, when John and I drop you off at work, can John take a picture of both of us on the precinct steps? If they see your badge and you standing in front of a police station they won't worry so much."

"We can do that. I like Lia. I'll be glad to help her out," Joss smiled at her son.

When they pulled up in front of the precinct, Taylor hopped out immediately. Joss followed slightly more leisurely, patting down a few flyaway strands of her hair, then waited next to them as John took Taylor's cellphone, centered Joss and Taylor in the screen, and clicked the picture. "Cool! Thanks, John!"

And Taylor slid into the backseat, thumbs busy texting the picture to Lia, as John gave her a quick kiss. "Have a good day. Be careful," he told her, and she grinned at him, then turned and headed into the precinct. He used to wish he could do that—and now he could. With HR's takedown, a lot of the impetus behind law enforcement's chase of him had gone also. He garnered an occasional incurious glance, now and then, from a passing cop, but they seemed to largely ignore him now—and he no longer had to worry about drawing attention to Joss or himself with a quick goodbye in front of the precinct steps.

When he got back in the car Taylor was in the front passenger seat Joss had occupied earlier, thumbs busy. "Telling Lia to check with her parents about going out with Mom and me. Be done in a minute. I need to ask you a question."

John nodded and waited quietly for Taylor to finish as he headed the car in the direction of Taylor's school; true to his word, Taylor's phone chimed politely a few minutes later as it sent the message he was working on, and he put the phone back in his pocket. Then he said, "Where are we going now?"

"I'm going to take you out to a light lunch—you don't want to eat heavily right before a basketball practice. And you can ask me whatever it is you need to ask me that you couldn't say in front of Mom. Just remember, if I think it's something Mom needs to know, I will tell her. Then I'll drop you off at your basketball game, go stop in at my work and check in with my boss, see if he has any work; if he doesn't, I'll pick you up after your game, we'll go driving until it's time to pick Mom up from her work, and I'll take both of you out to a restaurant to eat—want to get you started on those dining lessons I was talking about."

"Okay. Cool." Taylor was quiet as John pulled into a curbside spot at the burger restaurant, tucking the GTO neatly between a Honda and a Cadillac, and they went in and sat down.

Taylor ordered fries and a soda, John bought a burger, and when they were seated, he finally broached the subject. "So what was it you had to ask me that you couldn't ask in front of Mom?"

"If I ask Mom, she'll say no. But if I ask you and explain why I'm asking, you'll think about it seriously and then if it makes sense you'll talk Mom into it."

John shook his head. "So you've already learned how to manipulate me and Mom into doing what you want."

Taylor blew out a breath. "I didn't mean it that way. You see me as an adult. Mom still sees me as her little boy and she still tries to shelter me. She doesn't see me as an adult—or almost. And because of that she doesn't think objectively about what I say sometimes. But with you I can talk man-to-man. I can't even do that with Dad."

John thought about that for a moment. Yes, he could see that for himself. Somewhere along the way he'd become Taylor's advocate. "Okay, so tell me what it is and I promise I'll think about it."

"I want you to teach me how to fight like you do."

John put down his burger. He'd expected it was going to be serious, given Taylor's demeanor, but he certainly hadn't expected this. "Why?" Then, "Before you answer that, let me tell you that I will have to ask Mom for this—and whether I agree or not will depend on what you say in the next couple minutes."

"Man." Taylor sighed, but it was more of a resigned sound. "Okay. Fair enough." He put his elbows on the table collected his thoughts as he stared at his soda cup. "Okay. After the dance was over last night the principal asked me and Lia to shake hands with Steve and Kylie. Sort of a 'good sport' gesture. Steve and Kylie refused and stomped out of the dance. I expect they'll probably get a lecture in school on Monday but I don't think it's going to make a difference."

"So they're poor sports. Doesn't explain why you want to learn to fight. Do you think Steve Wood is going to pick a fight with you or call you out on the ballfield?"

Taylor rolled his eyes, a little humor returning. "Man, it's been a long time since you were in school, hasn't it? No one does that anymore." He sobered. "I don't know. I just get this feeling I should be prepared for anything—the look Steve and Kylie gave me and Lia wasn't a nice one. And not in the usual kid sort of way, either, Steve looked—really nasty. Like the guys who kidnapped me, that you rescued me from—that kind of nasty. Sort of really hard and angry." He blew out his breath. "I can't explain it."

He didn't have to. John could all too easily see potential danger. Although the temptation was there to dismiss this as simple schoolyard bullying, Steve Wood was old enough to be considered a man and any threat he might represent could be treated as serious. Lia was either at school or at home with her Aunt and Uncle; their strictness was, in this case, a good thing because she would be out of harm's way—but Taylor could be in danger. Particularly if… "Does Steve have any older friends outside of school? Gang ties, anything like that?"

Taylor thought about that. "A couple. Two guys that graduated a couple of years ago when I was he was a sophomore, Rick Durbin and Jimmy Hayes. They were on the wrestling team also. Rick is now at NYU, on the football team there, so Steve could have friends in the college scene through them. I see him hanging out with them in the school parking lot fooling with their cars and Steve's headed to college at NYU. Steve's older brother is also there, a quarterback on the football team."

John digested that. Older adult friends who could get a high school senior into adult trouble was a bad combination. And knowing that Steve already was a bully in school on his own didn't give John a lot of hope that Taylor would be able to avoid trouble.

"Fortunately, there's only a few months left and then school lets out for the summer. I don't really think they're going to start trouble but you never know. I just…want to be prepared if they do." Taylor stopped speaking, watched John expectantly for an answer.

John made a decision. "Okay. I'll teach you a few things, but only if Mom says yes. I'll do my best to talk her into it because I can see how this will help, but if she says no, then I'm not. In the meantime, is there anywhere Steve hangs out where I can see him?" He would be able to gauge the other boy's threat potential from watching him; and if Steve had any weaknesses, he'd be able to see them and train Taylor to use those weaknesses to incapacitate him. "Pending Mom's permission, I'm not going to teach you offensive moves—I'm going to teach you defensive moves, something that will stop Steve without causing permanent injury, something that will give you enough time to get away." He saw Taylor's disappointed look. "I'm not going to turn you into a bully. Always use the least amount of force necessary to defuse a situation. Never escalate a confrontation." _If you don't have to,_ he added silently to himself, but even he didn't do that often. When working a number with Finch, the goal was to incapacitate the perpetrator long enough to keep the victim safe. Even if 'incapacitation' meant killing them, sometimes it was necessary because the perp simply didn't know when to stop—or didn't care. People like that were the reason he'd taken the CIA gig—and why he'd taken Harold's job offer.

And speaking of Harold…Harold might be able to help him out with this. "Come on," he said, brushing crumbs off his fingers and wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Let's get you to your basketball practice before you're late."


	14. Chapter 14: Threat Assessment

**Chapter 14: Threat Assessment**

The day was a warm one, and John found himself almost smiling as he pulled into the parking lot at Taylor's school. After what had been one of the coldest winters on record, winter was finally losing its grip on New York and green grass was starting to sprout across the grassy football field. He paused to stretch the kinks out of his back as Taylor grabbed his duffel bag from the back seat.

"Hey, John. Over there. See the cheerleaders practicing? See the guys watching them? In the front row there's a tall dude with brown hair in a black leather jacket—that's Steve Wood."

John narrowed his eyes as he looked past the basketball courts. There were cheerleaders on the field practicing—and yes, in the front row of the bleachers was a tall brown-haired boy in a black leather jacket. Young, handsome, with a smile on his face as he watched the blond cheerleader Kylie practice—but John knew from experience that simply looking good didn't mean you were free of vices. It did however, make people more willing to trust you if you said you hadn't done something you were accused of; a flaw in basic human nature that John had never been prone to.

Strike one against the boy.

Strike two against the boy was lounging on either side of him in the same bleachers. Five other males, all older—John estimated two of them were college age, from the way they looked (and the rather obvious NYU purple and gold varsity jackets they wore) and one of them looked enough like Steve Wood that he surmised this must be the older brother.

But the other three didn't look like they were in college—or if they were, it wasn't a university. Maybe a local public college, though John doubted it from their scruffy, rather unkempt look. None of them were wearing any of the usual gang colors or flashing gang signs that he understood and was familiar with, after roaming the streets of New York first as a homeless bum, then as Harold's fixer—but that didn't necessarily mean they were not part of a gang. All five were obvious friends with each other; Kylie's partner threw her in the air, and her skirt flipped up as she came down; as the other cheerleaders put her on her feet and continued with their routine, she gave Steve a smile John could only describe as 'naughty' and flipped her skirt a little higher than necessary at the six boys. Steve waved back—then as she turned to follow the other girls, he high-fived each of the other boys.

John snorted. Strike three—and he could now count a strike against Kylie, too. Having a boyfriend was fine, but openly flirting with all of her boyfriend's buddies at the same time was inviting trouble. And she was seventeen, and the oldest of the men sitting in those stands was, in John's estimation, at least twenty-five.

No, he didn't like the looks of this at all. How easy would it be for one of these boys to jump Taylor on his way back from school? Joss would be heartbroken. No, she wasn't, because John wasn't going to let it happen. He'd talk to Joss about this, and somehow get her permission to at least show Taylor a few tricks that would get him out of trouble if trouble came looking for him.

And John would look out for him too.

He was going to head into the Library, see what Harold could find out about Steve Wood and the crew he hung out with. Fortunately he wasn't going to have to worry about Lia—sheltered and protected by her Aunt and Uncle's strictness, Steve's crew wouldn't have the opportunity to create trouble for her. As he got back into the car he paused for a moment, watching Taylor on the court. Sometime, soon, he'd have to take the boy out to a basketball court and shoot some hoops with him. There were subtle shifts of muscle that could get you to jump higher than other players and score more shots if you timed it right; it had been a while since John himself had played, and he would definitely enjoy playing with Taylor. Maybe he could even talk Joss into playing a game with him…

Smiling to himself, he started the car.

* * *

"Hey, Harold." John greeted Harold with a smile as he deposited a cup of Harold's favorite Sencha green tea on a handy coaster, then turned to give Bear a pat on the head and a scratch behind the ears.

"Good afternoon, John. Thank you," Harold said with a smile as he reached for the tea. "I was just thinking I'd like a cup."

"Great minds think alike," John said, pulling out a chair at the other end of the table and resuming scratching Bear's ears. The big Malinois dropped his head on John's lap and leaned in for the caress, tongue lolling in bliss. "We got any new work?"

"No, the Machine was quiet today. And even if we had, I would have called Ms. Shaw. I opted not to bother you, since you seemed to be enjoying your Saturday."

John flushed. "How much did you hear?"

"Only what I needed to, John. Your dealings with Joss are your private business, I certainly wouldn't want to come between you two. I made that mistake once already. I'm not eager to repeat the incident."

"Worried Joss might beat you up, Finch?" John joked. "The night at her house, she said she had some things she wanted to say to you about that mess, but then with Walker happening, she never got that chance. Think she's going to remember eventually?"

"Oh my God, hell is going to freeze over," came anew voice, and both men looked up, to see Sam Shaw striding across the floor toward them. "John Reese actually cracked a joke." A wicked smile curved her lips. "Guess Joss is getting you to relax a bit."

"You should try it sometime. Might do wonders for your personality, Ms. Shaw," Finch said dryly as he looked at her over the rim of his cup.

"I can get laid anytime I want to, Harold. Has nothing to do with my personality. You, on the other hand, probably could use a good—"

John cleared his throat loudly, drowning out whatever Sam was about to say. She glared at him with a look that should have fried him on the spot, but John ignored her. "So, Harold, if you're up for a challenge, I'd like you to look into something for me."

"Certainly. What is it?" Finch looked almost grateful for the interruption.

"Taylor's a little worried about one of the boys in his school. Apparently, the Valentine's dance ended on a sour note and Taylor asked me if I could teach him to fight—he's worried one of the boys might retaliate."

"Mr. Carter is very perceptive for his age. If he's worried, I certainly can look into it. What and who am I looking for?"

"Kid named Steve Wood. When I dropped Taylor off at his basketball practice Steve was watching the cheerleaders practice and he had four friends with him plus his older brother. His older brother and one of his friends are at NYU. The other three didn't seem like they were in school or college, but they were watching a high school practice."

"If they don't attend the school they have no business being at a school function. I agree this doesn't look good. Let me see what I can find out." His fingers were already flying over his keyboard.

Moments later he had something up on his computer screen, and Sam forgot she was supposed to be annoyed with John and Harold as she leaned in for a look. "Oh, charming," she snorted derisively.

John got up out of his chair, ignoring Bear's disgruntled woof at having his earscratch interrupted, and came around to stand behind Finch's chair. On the screen was a shirtless Steve Wood, flexing a bicep to show off his muscle.

"Oh please. That's what he calls muscle?" Sam scoffed. "I've seen better on Bear." The dog cocked his head at the sound of his name. "Muscle-bound with no brains. Taylor's worried about this guy?"

"Mr. Carter is an astute young man, with perceptions and reasoning beyond his years. If he is worried about this young man being a possible threat, I'd be inclined to trust Mr. Carter's instincts." Harold was scrolling down the screen. "I rather get the feeling Taylor's uneasiness also stems from the fact that Mr. Wood seems to have an inordinate number of friends outside school who are also out of his age range and shouldn't be having anything to do with a mere high-school student."

The majority of the teenaged jargon on the screen didn't mean much to John; instead, he was examining the names and photos of people on and attached to Steve Wood's social media page. Harold was right, a lot of them seemed to be rather old to be associating with and talking to a high school kid. "Lots of visiting college frat houses and attending parties hosted by college boys."

"Yes, and lots of underage drinking," Harold looked disapprovingly at a photo of Steve Wood holding up a beer with four other guys, three of whom John recognized had been sitting beside Steve in the football field bleachers. "I don't see any drug use, however. Fortunately."

"But that doesn't mean there isn't any going on," Sam pointed out. "Part of the whole frat subculture is some recreational drug use."

"I'm going to talk to Joss about teaching Taylor some self-defense," John said firmly. "Not much, just enough to get him out of trouble."

"It's not a bad thing to know, for anyone," Harold admitted. "Fortunately, there's only a couple months of school left. Not lot of time to get into trouble."

"Don't underestimate how much trouble a kid can get into," John said warningly.

"Oh, this sounds like it's coming from personal experience," Sam said, a slow, wicked grin spreading over her face as she dropped into a chair and propped her feet on the edge of Harold's desk, ignoring Harold's annoyed look. "I gotta hear this."

"Nothing to tell," John said hastily. "Oh, and Finch, apparently Taylor's prom this year is taking place at an upscale hotel—one of the seniors has a father who was able to rent a ballroom at a discount the class could afford. If you can find out where the prom is going to be held, I'll know what sort of restaurant I should take Taylor, Joss, and Lia to in order to teach Taylor and Lia how to handle fine dining."

"You're going to teach Taylor how to fold a napkin? Isn't that the blind leading the blind?" Sam snorted.

"There's more to proper manners in fine company than simply folding a napkin, Ms. Shaw," Harold said with a raised eyebrow. "Knowing how to properly tuck a napkin in is only the start. There are other niceties like pulling a chair out for your date, how to carry on a conversation without disturbing nearby tables, how to eat neatly without making a mess. In a fine dining establishment, the hallmark of eating neatly means you shouldn't leave a stain on your napkin." He looked up at John. "Are you sure you're equal to handling the task? I may be a better instructor in that area."

"John's just enjoying being a father," Sam said quickly, then grinned at John's glare. "Come on, John, admit it. You're having fun."

He didn't dignify that with a reply; instead he turned to Harold. "Just because I prefer to cook my own food doesn't mean I don't know how to neatly eat someone else's. And Joss's manners are impeccable—I saw her last night. She's fully equal to teaching Lia how to not embarrass Taylor on date."

"Lia?" Sam said sharply.

John narrowed his eyes at the change in Sam's tone. "Taylor's girlfriend. Why?"

"Is there any chance that whatever trouble Taylor is expecting will spill over on her?" All levity was gone.

John shook his head. "Taylor said she lives with a very strict, very conservative Hindu Aunt and Uncle. They don't allow her to have friends over, they don't allow her to stay after school if there's no school function. The kind of trouble Taylor's expecting won't have a chance to affect her."

"Don't underestimate what kind of trouble a teen girl can get into," Sam said warningly.

"Is there a story behind that, too?" Harold asked archly.

"You're the computer genius, you figure it out," Sam snapped at him, then turned to John. "She's a normal teen girl going to a high school with other teen girls who have a lot more freedom. She's also seventeen, and she's getting close to the age where she can do what she likes without her guardians' restrictions. Don't think she might not decide to see what that freedom tastes like a little early, maybe sneak out of the house one evening to hang out with some school friends. She sounds like she's pretty sheltered—and that can mean she's naïve to the dangers out there."

"She's very quiet. A bit of a loner, a misfit. She doesn't have friends who might get her in trouble," John said. "That's why Joss took her dress shopping—she didn't have girl friends to go shopping with."

"It's always the quiet ones you have to watch out for," Sam said.

But John shook his head dismissively. "I don't see it likely. Not with Lia." He stood. "Okay. I have to get back to Taylor's school, pick him up—his basketball practice will be over by the time I get there. Then we're picking Joss up at the precinct at eight and if she's up to it, we're going out to a place called Knickerbocker's this evening—teach Taylor how to eat messy food neatly in a no-pressure setting."

Sam snickered as she stood up. "Good luck." And she was gone.

Harold sighed after she left. "Every time Ms. Shaw comes here it feels as though she leaves the Library in a mess when she leaves. Even if she hasn't actually touched anything."

John nodded. He felt rather like that, too; Sam Shaw just had so much presence that you felt rather overwhelmed when she was in the same room with you. It had to feel even more so to Harold, who had had the Library to himself for so long—John didn't even really know how long—that having Sam (and to a lesser extent, John himself,) coming through here must feel somewhat like an invasion. But at the same time, John had always thought Harold must have been rather lonely, sitting here all by himself watching the world unfold from behind a computer screen. It was part of the reason why John had decided to leave Bear here. Sitting for hours, days, behind a computer desk wasn't good for Harold's physical condition; he'd needed a reason to leave his computer sometimes, and Bear had been an excellent way of getting Harold up and moving. It hadn't escaped John's notice that Harold's morning stiffness seemed to ease after Bear's morning walk, and that he was limping a bit less than when John had first met him. The regular physical activity was good for Harold. And Bear.

"You know, John," and John paused in the act of heading for the door, "The owner of several very…exclusive…properties in New York might be willing to rent a ballroom to an inner-city high school for Taylor's graduating class next year to host their prom. If connections are the way one's graduating high school class obtains a nice venue, I believe you could supply the connections through your employer. You are, after all, my…head of security."

John stopped short. Blinked as he tried to process that. Then a grin spread over his face as he turned to Harold. "I have an official job title now."

Harold started laughing.

It was nice to see Harold laugh, John reflected as he waited for the other man to get himself under control. Harold didn't laugh like that often—in fact, John couldn't remember Harold ever laughing like that until he'd gotten close to Joss. She seemed to have a relaxing, humanizing effect on all of them.

"Yes, Mr. Reese, you officially have a job title as 'Head of Security' for Machine, Incorporated. In fact, it probably is about time we made something concrete, as eventually our young Mr. Carter would ask questions. He is every bit as clever and observant as his mother. Also, I need to make some plans…" Harold's voice trailed off as he stared in the distance.

"Plans for what?" John asked after a moment; Harold seemed to have gotten lost in thought.

Harold shook himself out of his reverie. "Just something I was working on. Yes, I can offer a ballroom rental to Taylor's class. I'll take a look at the various suitable venues and select a few, and you can ask Mr. Carter which one he prefers. We can then come up with a suitable fee that his class can afford."

"Thanks, Harold. This will mean a lot to Taylor." Let Harold worry about…whatever it was he was thinking of. Right now John had to go pick Taylor up from basketball practice. They'd spend two hours driving on the highway, since they now officially had Joss's permission, and then they'd pick Joss up at the precinct and head out to Knickerbocker's.


	15. Chapter 15: Lesson

**Chapter 15: Lesson**

The absence of shouting in the schoolyard was John's first clue that something was wrong. The next clue, as he got out of the car, was seeing a tight knot of kids around the loading zone by the basketball court.

And when two kids turned at the sound of the muted roar of the GTO's engine, so distinctive from the engines of newer-model cars, and they saw him, nudged each other, then scuttled away from the knot of kids, he knew something was going on that would need adult intervention.

He didn't have to elbow the kids out of his way; as soon as they saw him, a lot of the kids suddenly seemed to remember they had other things to do, other places to be, and they made themselves scarce. It wasn't until he got close to the center of the circle that he understood what he was seeing.

Steve and Taylor were squared off in the center against each other.

John's first thought was _amateurs._ But then he looked at Taylor, standing with feet shoulder-width apart, arms loose at his sides, fists curled but not quite clenched, and John revised his opinion sharply. He'd taught Joss that, at the gym, while they'd both been sure that Taylor was preoccupied with the video games in the gym's lounge. Apparently, Taylor was a lot more perceptive than they gave him credit for.

"Come on. Fight me. Too scared, like that mousy little Arab chick you're dating?"

Anger flashed in Taylor's eyes. Just a moment, and then the boy locked it down—exactly as John had taught Joss to do. So Taylor _had_ been paying attention. "She's Indian and Italian. And don't call her a chick."

"I'll call her whatever I want. Not like she really belongs here. She doesn't look like us, dress like us. Thinks she's too good to hang with the rest of us."

"She is. Too good to hang out with you." Again John had to give Taylor credit for his attention, if not his wits. He remembered telling Joss that if you could get your opponent mad at you, they were more likely to make mistakes.

But he'd also told Taylor not to escalate a conflict—yet here was Taylor, deliberately taunting the older boy. Had Taylor picked this fight, or had Steve?

"Too good to hang out with you, too. Not like you see her outside of school." A new voice, female. John glanced off to the right. Kylie Whistler. Taunting Taylor. John felt his dislike of the girl rise another notch.

"She's got better things to do. Still having trouble with your math? You know, you might ask Lia for help with your math, or you won't get to go to prom this year because of your grades. Be a shame since your Dad was the one who got your class that deal on the hotel downtown."

"My grades are none of your business," Kylie snapped, blue eyes flashing. John raised an eyebrow. Volatile temper, and that silly pout she was affecting would do bad things to a young man's libido. Namely, Steve Wood's. Steve was already glaring at Taylor on Kylie's behalf.

But Taylor looked cool and unruffled. "If you don't go, who's Steve going to get to look good on his arm? He can't be asking you to prom for the conversation." John just barely stopped himself from laughing.

Steve lunged for Taylor, arms extended, plainly expecting to catch the younger boy off guard, but by the time he reached Taylor's side of the circle, Taylor wasn't there. He'd executed a quick duck-and-spin move John had seen him perform on the basketball court, and Steve was left rushing through empty air. Taylor was now on the side of the circle Steve had formerly occupied, and still hadn't even ruffled a hair.

With a growl, Steve rushed Taylor again.

John rolled his eyes. The older boy obviously hadn't learned from the first time. Taylor simply ducked and spun out of Steve's reach again, though this time as he spun out of the way he jabbed an elbow into Steve's lower back, just over the other boy's kidneys. Not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough for Steve to feel it. Again, evidence that he'd been paying attention during John's lessons to Joss in the gym. He wasn't out to seriously hurt the other boy; it was a warning. John now knew Taylor hadn't picked this fight.

But John also didn't know just how much Taylor actually knew or understood about what John had taught Joss at the gym, and in any case, if Steve Wood's older brother and his four older buddies standing at the edge of the circle decided to get in the act, Taylor was going to be in some serious trouble. Time to put an end to this. He cleared his throat very loudly and ostentatiously, then said, "Is this something we should alert the principal about, Taylor?" And when Steve Wood looked up, he fixed the bully with a hard glare, letting him know John knew exactly who had started the fight.

"Who's this? Inner-city boy got a mentor? You get in trouble and they sent some rich white man to mentor the inner-city boy?" Steve faced John squarely.

Dear God, did this kid have a death wish? Was he honestly squaring off against an adult? John stared at Steve for a moment incredulously, before the little part of him that was 'Reese' spoke. _If the kid's looking for trouble, let's give him what he wants._

John Reese smiled as he stepped squarely up to Steve Wood. It wasn't a nice smile. Three of Steve's buddies standing at the perimeter of the circle, the older ones who John had thought earlier didn't look like they were in school of any kind, suddenly decided there was somewhere else they had to be at just that moment. The two others, the ones wearing purple and yellow NYU university letter jackets, looked suddenly uneasy, and Steve's older brother touched Steve's sleeve tentatively. "Steve. Come on, we should be going."

Steve shrugged off his older brother's hand and turned to face John. Stupid. Brave, but stupid. Yes, he'd started the fight but didn't have enough sense to know when he should end it, when he should listen to his older brother and walk away.

Well, he was going to learn that lesson today.

John let his face settle into the hard coldness that was 'Reese's' trademark. "Pick battles big enough to matter but small enough to win. You're not going to win this one, boy, so I suggest you back off." John kept his voice even. A last warning to Steve that he'd better acquire some sense—in the next couple of seconds.

"Boy?" Steve sputtered—actually sputtered, something that made John laugh to himself silently. Immature and stupid. _Just a brainless kid who has to learn his lessons the hard way._ "I graduate this year! I'm eighteen!"

As if that was a huge hallmark—although John did remember when he was that age, high school graduation was a momentous occasion, the dividing line between adulthood and childhood. From the viewpoint of his own now forty-plus years, however, Steve Wood was still a child. And he was acting like one, too. "Years don't matter. How you act does. And right now you're acting like a spoiled toddler." Enough with the kid gloves; Steve's little temper tantrum was cutting into the time John had marked for teaching Taylor some highway driving. "Grow up. Learn to take advice from your elders." He nodded to Steve's older brother. "Come on, Taylor." And he deliberately turned his back on Steve, heading toward the GTO.

He was hoping that Steve would have enough sense, at the last minute, to walk away; but he was also expecting the boy hadn't acquired any sense in the last minute or so, and so he was prepared when he heard Steve's old brother shout, "Steve, no!" Without even turning around, he took one huge step off to the side, and Steve went sailing headfirst through the space he'd just occupied, landing face-first on the pavement of the parking lot.

He sat up with a dazed look on his face and a red scrape on his chin that was shortly going to turn into road rash, and Reese looked down at him. "As I said, pick battles you can win. You're not going to win this one."

Steve rose from his prone position in a rush, then reached out with his arms, plainly intending to tackle John in the middle in a classic wrestling move. Reese let the boy wrap arms around his middle, then smoothly folded his knees, dropped to the pavement and used his feet as leverage to break Steve's grip and send the teenager flying over Reese's head—directly between a parked car's bumper and a metal light pole. He already knew what was in that space; he'd aimed his kick carefully enough that Steve's flailing arms struck the pole a glancing blow but didn't impact the boy's head. It would still leave a bruise, but not a serious one.

He rolled to his feet quickly, turned to face the boy. But Steve didn't try to get right back up; he sat on the ground, looking dazed, rubbing an elbow. Good. That had finally gotten through his thick head. "I went easy on you. This time. I won't be so lenient next time. Never, ever try to pick a fight with me again. In fact, don't pick fights with anyone. You don't know what skills that person could have." He stood, glared at Steve's older brother. "I was in the Army. Special Forces. You're old enough to know what that means. I could have killed your younger brother just now. Remember that." His eyes flicked to Taylor. "Come on. Let's go pick up Mom from work."

The only sound as Taylor followed him to the GTO was their footsteps on the asphalt.

* * *

Sitting in her car just across from the school, Sam grinned to herself. _Damn, John really does have this 'father' thing down pat, doesn't he?_ It wasn't how she would have handled the situation—if it had been up to her, she would have beaten Steve soundly, completely. He'd have bruises for a week, be lucky if he could sit comfortably.

Of course, Joss would have gotten upset, but Sam didn't really care. She would have had too much fun beating the snot out of that bully.

_But now that I've seen the kid, I don't like the looks of this at all. John and Joss can take care of Taylor but I think they're all underestimating how vulnerable Taylor's girlfriend is. If her Aunt and Uncle really are that strict, she'll be completely unprepared for the kinds of nasty tricks that bully and his buddies are able to pull. And I don't put anything past that blond cheerleader either._

She watched John's purple GTO pull out of the lot, then focused back on the knot of kids. Most of them had scattered, but Steve, Kylie, Steve's older brother and the other NYU student were still there—and the three older guys who had fled when John arrived had mysteriously turned back up at the scene. _Nope, don't like the way this looks at all._

Sam kept on eye on the knot of kids as she dug her cellphone out of her pocket and activated the phone's browser. This time, though, instead of pulling up Steve's page, she pulled up Taylor's social media page.

And on the front page was a photo of Taylor and Lia.

Sam smiled. Taylor really was a cute kid, and Joss had done a great job raising him on her own—in fact, Taylor was probably better off with just his Mom. What Sam had heard thus far from John on the subject of Joss's ex, and what Sam had observed of Joss's habits and behaviors, didn't do anything to endear her to Paul Carter. In fact, Sam was wondering when John was going to give up on his hands-off policy and go teach Paul Carter thing or two—Sam wanted to know ahead of time so she could sell tickets. It was going to be quite a show when it happened. And she had no doubt it would happen eventually. Although the events of the last year with Walker, Joss's takedown of HR, and his relationship with Joss had gone a long way toward integrating John Reese's multiple personalities, Sam knew 'Reese' was still lurking in there just waiting to come out and play, and Paul Carter was just the catalyst needed for that to happen.

It was going to be…quite entertaining.

She scrolled through Taylor's social media page. Lots of things about school. Friends. Even more about his progress with various video games and computer activity. There was a long stretch of time when there had been no posts—this was the time he and Joss had spent upstate at Cam Arlington's cabin while Joss was hiding from HR and Tony Walker. Sam hadn't realized Taylor had been wise enough to stop posting to his social media page even though he'd had access to his cellphone and could have posted from there; if he had, HR might have been able to track them.

There were a few posts about Joss, and although they were brief, Sam could see how much the boy loved his mother. And there were even a few posts about John—Sam was going to have to tell John to be careful when Taylor was around, because there was a rather nice photo of John in the park, throwing a ball for Bear to fetch. His face was turned partially away and you could just barely see a profile, and that was fine, but a full-on facial shot could prove potentially harmful to Taylor if someone came looking for a way to get to John.

Bu his posts about John had a touch of hero-worship and lots of references to John being a 'really cool big brother'. Whether by accident or design, he never mentioned the name 'Reese'; his posts were full of 'John said…' and 'John did…' The earliest mention of John, a few years back, started with a touch of hero-worship; but the later posts, the ones from the last year or so, definitely showed the boy maturing in his habits, thoughts, and perspectives. Although Sam was reluctant to admit it, John was doing a pretty good job of smoothing out some of Taylor's rough edges, getting him to look at things from a more mature perspective.

But conversely, too, Taylor was a great influence on John. His boyish innocence and fresh outlook on life was slowly opening John's admittedly jaded eyes to more possibilities; accustomed to (and expecting) lies, secrecy and deception his entire adult life, John now found himself learning, with Taylor and Joss, that here were no lies, no deceptions, no trickery. Their openness and honesty was something John welcomed and treasured—and the youthful challenges Taylor now faced was a new, interesting change for John.

Like taking care of this bully. Sam would bet her life (well, she didn't have much else since Control had burned her) that John Reese had been having fun taking that bully down. Not just John— both John and Reese had been having fun with Steve Wood a few minutes ago. Maybe not what most people would have called fun—but Sam knew how John's mind worked, and she knew he'd been having fun.

Back to her original purpose; she scrolled back up Taylor's posts to find mentions of Lia. No links to another social media page, so Lia didn't have a social media page; that was okay, as strict as Sam had gotten the impression Lia's Aunt and Uncle were, she hadn't expected the girl would have one. But what she did find troubled her.

Taylor had put up a couple of brief posts abut an incident where Steve had been intercepting Lia in the hallway and stealing Lia's lunch money. She saw a long, infuriated, angry post about an incident where Lia's locker had been stuffed with raw frozen meat that had thawed and ruined everything; Sam wondered if Joss knew Taylor had given the school librarian his allowance for a month to help Lia pay for some ruined library books—and that Taylor had shared his lunch with her so she wouldn't be hungry. Taylor had started walking her between classes first to make sure his English Lit tutor wasn't picked on, but later he'd put up a post saying he was surprised that she was a good conversationalist and she knew 'lots of interesting things', and they had become first friends, then best friends, then developed into an established boyfriend/girlfriend relationship (by teen definitions) even though they'd never actually gone on a date.

Yeah, Taylor was a good kid.

On a whim, Sam pulled up another social media page; the blond cheerleader Steve was going out with, Kylie Whistler. And what she saw made her want to grit her teeth. Kylie might look pretty, but there was an ugly person underneath. Although she had other people on the 'friend' section of her page, some of the comments she made about them could at best be called 'unkind' and at worst, outright 'nasty'. She smoked, she drank—her parents kept alcohol in the house and she helped herself when they weren't looking; she had parties when her parents weren't home, and she openly bragged about having a fake ID with which she had sneaked into a club with Steve and his older brother Ray. She had a lot of boyfriends—it didn't surprise Sam at all that she mentioned she'd had sex with an 'older boy related to someone I'm going out with now', by which she surmised the blond cheerleader had had sex with both Steve and Steve's older brother. There were numerous pictures of her at what was clearly different college frat parties; the differing colors in varsity letter jackets said she was dating far out of her age range.

And she hated Lia.

That much was evident by the way she referred to Lia using derogatory slurs, racial epithets and words that, if Sam had been Kylie's mother, she would have slapped the girl silly for saying. Joss would never allow Taylor to say those words, and John wouldn't either, Sam knew that instinctively. As she turned off her cellphone and watched Steve and his crew pile into their respective cars to go home, Sam decided she was going to keep an eye on Lia. Guys—like John and Harold—simply had no idea just how vicious a high school teen girl could be.

Well, Sam did.


	16. Chapter 16: Carter

**Chapter 16: Carter**

_Author's Note: Thanks go out to SWWoman for letting me use 'John Davis'!_

"Good afternoon, John," Harold's tone was unreadable on the other end of the line.

John frowned as he put down the grater he was using to grate cheese. "What's wrong, Harold?" He'd never heard the other man sound like this.

Harold hesitated a moment before answering—and John went to the sink and washed his hands, positive that he was going to have to go out to the Library in a couple of minutes. It looked like his quiet evening wasn't going to be so quiet after all.

He'd decided for Joss's birthday that he was going to make her a pan of lasagna. Joss loved lasagna; she ordered it whenever possible from their favorite Italian delivery place. John had tasted it one evening, and made a face; in comparison to what he knew lasagna should taste like, based on dishes he'd sampled from restaurants in Italy when he was partnered with Kara, the stuff was terrible. Joss had defended her choice, then challenged him; if he thought this was terrible, then he should show her what it was really supposed to taste like.

He was only too happy to rise to that particular challenge.

And he'd decided to do that today, since he didn't have anything in particular to do—Joss had worked the previous night shift, and then had been asked to pull a double since there was a bad strain of flu going around the police department. 'Blue flu,' she called it, though John suspected that he sudden rash of work call-outs her precinct had been experiencing was as much due to the recent streak of warm weather, unseasonable for March in New York, as it was due to anyone actually being ill.

Taylor's high school basketball team had apparently been the top in their division and he was taking an overnight trip to play a rival high school in another division, according to his dinner table chatter. John had made it a point to subtly maneuver all of them into sharing dinner; formerly, Joss might have something quietly by herself while Taylor had dinner at a friend's house, or he ate in his room while playing video games online with his friends, but John had tried to put a stop to that as much as he could. Joss and Taylor needed the time together; with Taylor getting older and subject to older influences at school, he needed more time with Joss (and John) so they could make sure he stayed focused. Joss had just sent all of the financial aid paperwork off to RIT, and after looking at the income requirements, John was sure Joss's income would qualify—but Taylor had to keep his grades up and stay out of trouble. And the best way to make certain of that was to maintain his closeness with his mother, who he loved dearly and didn't want to disappoint.

So John had instituted 'family dinners' and made Taylor want to come home by cooking a variety of foods the boy was eager to try. He also tried to avoid thinking about just how much he liked those 'family dinners'—and it wasn't just the cooking he enjoyed.

He'd checked with her when she got off at noon; she'd been headed home to sleep after a sixteen-hour shift, didn't have to be at work again until eight tomorrow morning, and John had been doing the prep work here at his apartment so when he went over to her place around six that evening, he could just pop it in her oven to cook and spend the time with her instead. With Taylor on an overnight trip, it was the perfect opportunity for him to pamper her a bit.

But now, hearing the edge in Harold's voice, he knew his plans for the evening might be about to undergo a bit of revision. "What's wrong, Harold?" He was slightly mystified. That tone of voice usually signified a number, but Harold calling him 'John' usually meant it was personal.

"I—actually, we—just got a new number. I know you had plans to spend the evening with Joss, so I thought I would call Ms. Shaw, but she rather emphatically told me this was something you should handle. I believe her exact words were 'I'm going to sell tickets'."

John frowned—but at the same time, he was intrigued. "Who's the number, Harold?" More hesitation. John slid the pan of lasagna into his refrigerator with aluminum foil covering it, then put a little more of an edge in his voice as he said, "Who's the number, Finch?"

A little sigh. "Her name is Brandy Brewer. Executive assistant at the law firm of Cohen & Spanos. She's also Paul Carter's current girlfriend."

John froze as he processed that. "Is there any other direction that possible danger could come from other than Paul Carter?" But he already knew the answer to that—it explained Harold's reluctance to call him.

It also explained Sam's cryptic comment about 'selling tickets'.

Harold confirmed it. "Unfortunately, no. I couldn't find anything. She's her boss's assistant, but he's not that big, and he does contract law—hardly a field of law that is likely to attract clients who may later be a danger to the lawyer's life. Or his secretary's. The firm is a small one, but not so small that its founders would be making any illegal moves to gain money to keep the firm afloat.

"You may have seen Ms. Brewer briefly the night she attended the James & Rowell business mixer—the event on Valentine's night that you and Joss both attended as well. I don't think she would have introduced herself to you and Joss, but she and Paul Carter did have an…intense discussion…that evening after the mixer, in front of the building, in front of a rather convenient traffic camera. She heard at least part of his conversation with you both and was unhappy with his poor behavior. He responded by kicking a trashcan, which rolled in her direction and impacted her ankle, breaking the heel of her shoe and leaving her with a light sprain. She hobbled for a week, and Paul Carter wasn't…patient…with her temporary infirmity."

John vividly remembered Joss's evasiveness when he asked her if Carter had insisted on having sex with her while she was still sore from a previous 'night of rough sex'. No, he would lay money on Carter not having any patience with his current girlfriend's sprained ankle if it inconvenienced Carter himself in any way. "Has he hit her?" Carter was supposed to be in therapy or have gone through some type of anger management. Well, it didn't look like that therapy had helped him any. John was going to enjoy seeing if his version of 'therapy' was going to be effective on Paul Carter.

"He hasn't physically laid a hand on her." Of course. That wasn't Carter's MO. "He has, however, created emotional distress with displays of temper and hurled objects which have, on at least two occasions I can find, resulted in physical harm. Nothing that Ms. Brewer has sought external medical help for—or has required medical attention, but…" Harold trailed off.

"It's only a matter of time," John finished his sentence grimly. "Don't worry about having disturbed my afternoon, Harold. This isn't going to take long at all."

"Um…should we tell Joss about this?" Harold sounded so uncertain; John grinned to himself. He could well imagine what Joss's reaction would be to this piece of information.

"I don't think so. You know her, Finch—when it comes to herself, she's too willing to let things go. She'd tell us not to get involved—and then she'd go over there to try and help Ms. Brewer herself." John could still remember the conversation Joss had had with Eddie Kovacs. John had gotten to Mrs. Kovacs just in time to prevent Joss confronting the man. "But we can't let her do that here, especially where it concerns Paul Carter, who we know she's unable to be objective about." If Paul Carter tried to attack her for interfering, her prior history with him might make her hesitate to use force—and that could end up costing her. Because Paul Carter wouldn't hesitate to use force on her.

John would do everything in his power to make sure that didn't happen. Paul Carter had already taken too much from Joss. His emotional and mental abuse had taken Joss's trust, innocence, self-esteem; had hurt her mentally and emotionally in ways John was still discovering and dealing with carefully, and had hurt her in physical ways that had come to light in the most devastating and horrific of circumstances. And there wasn't a single damned thing he could do about it now except support her, hold her, and help her rebuild her self-esteem and emotional confidence while in a relationship, because that was what Paul had taken from her, broken in her. Just seeing that hurt.

But thanks to Harold and Harold's Machine, he had a chance to keep it from happening again. To Brandy Brewer. And it was this thought that accompanied him out the door as he asked Finch tersely, "Track him down for me."

* * *

Paul Carter worked as a package handler for global shipping/logistics firm. John sat for a while in his GTO across from the fenced-in yard of the shipping firm; large trucks came in, dropped off packages which were then sorted into smaller batches according to destination and loaded into trucks heading for those destinations. And in the middle of the yard was Paul Carter.

Handling large packages all day, hauling boxes of freight, had given him large, extremely muscular arms. Nothing that John couldn't handle—muscle mass didn't mean anything if you didn't know how to use those muscles effectively—but he could see how a woman, even someone militarily-trained like Joss, could feel physically intimidated by Carter.

Brandy Brewer wasn't military-trained. She was the stereotypical office worker. A look at her business social media page showed a woman of average height, average muscle, certainly not anyone who could take on Paul Carter's muscle and bulk. No more than average strength and stamina—in fact, rather less, as her job was sedentary. She was the kind of woman who would look for a dominant, strong man to take care of her. It explained why she'd gravitated toward Paul's authoritativeness, his dominant personality.

But Joss's military training had made her confident enough in her own abilities that she'd been able to take that giant step from being married to Paul Carter to being on her own with a small child. Brandy Brewer, from what John could see, didn't have that kind of confidence—and if Paul Carter was working on her psyche the same way he'd worked on Joss, abusing and brutalizing her emotionally until she was no longer confident in herself and became completely dependent on Carter, it could well end up the way Jessica's story had ended; a fight, an outstretched hand, an impact that took away a life that the owner of that hand had promised before God to cherish, protect and care for.

In the years since Jessica's death, John had looked back on the few conversations he'd had with Jessica between the time she'd walked away from him in the airport and into Peter Arndt's waiting arms; and that last panicked, frightened phone call that she'd made to him the last night of her life, her call to him to save her; and he'd realized that Peter Arndt had been doing to Jessica what Paul Carter had done to Joss. Abusing her emotionally, breaking her down mentally and taking away her self-confidence, her self-esteem, until she could no longer imagine what she would do without this dominant presence in her life. And it was the one huge regret in John's life that he hadn't seen it, hadn't understood it; if he had, he would have flown back that night to save Jessica, no matter what Kara or the CIA might have said.

And it was that realization that made him treasure Joss all the more. When she'd made the decision to move, and she had picked an apartment with three rooms but deliberately had asked him to maintain his own place, his own separate space, he'd resented it at the time but understood it now for what it was; her way of making sure she never again fell into that trap, never found herself depending on anyone else again, emotionally or physically. He understood that his actions the night Aleksa had drugged him and tried to rape him had shown Joss— and him—that he wasn't the most emotionally mature person himself. Sam had said it best; Joss needed, wanted—_deserved_—an adult to stand beside her, support her, help her; not an emotional child in a man's body who would depend on her to define himself. She'd had that in her son; she'd helped him grow and define himself, but she didn't want to be saddled with an immature adult male who would need her to do the same for him. That was why she'd given John the ultimatum that night at her apartment after she'd set Aleksa up.

She'd been perceptive enough to see where the road she was traveling with Paul Carter was going to lead; strong enough to decide she didn't want to go down that road; brave enough to step out of it and strike off on her own with a small child, her precious son, in tow; big-hearted enough to give John a try when another man had already hurt her and betrayed her love and her trust in the worst way possible; and smart enough to realize that John needed to grow up. And she'd also loved him enough to help him find himself, help him mature emotionally.

Now that he had, would she be willing to commit to him? _Could_ she? He knew, with complete certainty, that Joss Carter was unique; he'd never met anyone like her before, and never would again. And he knew that he'd happily spend the rest of his life committed to her, helping her, supporting her and caring for her the way she deserved to be loved and cared for.

They could never make it legal; not as long as 'John Davis' was officially MIA and 'John Reese' was a ghost in the system with no true identity, thanks to the CIA and Control burning him. But he didn't need a piece of paper to make a commitment to her; he'd already made that decision almost half a year ago, when he'd told her up on Panther Mountain that he loved her. And he also didn't know if she would be ready to commit to another man, again, not after Carter's betrayal. He wasn't sure if he could, if he'd been in her shoes.

He watched Carter work. Confident, sure of himself, he tossed around the bulky boxes like they were made of foam. It was easy to see what women would see to like in Paul Carter, at a first, casual look. It wasn't until they actually got to know the guy that they would find out what lay hidden under the handsome, confident exterior, but by then he would have already started breaking them down. John didn't know if Carter did it deliberately or if it was something intrinsic to his nature, like Joss's self-sacrificing characteristic was intrinsic to her nature, but either way, John was going to put an end to it now. Relationships should be two-sided, not based on emotional dependency.

He noticed Carter favored his left side a little, a slight limp in a left ankle that, with very little effort, could be much more pronounced—and make women even more sympathetic. But right now, it was just a weakness John could exploit if it came to a physical confrontation between them. He didn't expect Carter would escalate a physical conflict with him; John was expecting this to be a very short pissing match when a car pulled up across the street from the loading yard at 4 PM and Carter headed straight for it. It was being driven by a woman, who John identified as Brandy Brewer, their number.

John leaned up against the side of the GTO; casually, with his phone in his hand, apparently texting—gambling on Carter's aggressive nature to bring the conflict to John, rather than seeking to avoid him. And, just as John expected, Carter recognized him, detoured from his route to Brandy Brewer's car in order to stop in front of John. "Hey. You followin' me?"

John looked up casually, as if he'd just noticed Carter there. "Oh. It's you."

That aggressive dominant nature made it impossible for Carter to accept that he'd been ignored. "Joss sent you to follow me around?"

"Leave her out of it. This is between you and me." John dropped all pretense of being casual, turned to face Carter. Inside him, 'Reese' was howling in pure male aggression, recognizing the challenge of another dominant, alpha male and only too willing to rise to meet it. Very few people made John feel challenged; Patrick Simmons had been one; now Paul Carter was the other. But he locked that down as he faced the other man. "I saw your argument with your new girlfriend after the business mixer a week ago. I can see what you're doing to her. Same thing you tried to do to Joss. I'm not letting it happen."

"You're not letting what happen?" Carter stepped squarely up to John. "Not my fault that these women can't deal with a strong man like me."

"You're not a strong man, Carter. You're a bully and an abuser. Your abuse is just a little more subtle, but it's there for anyone who has eyes to see it. I see it, every day, in Joss. I see how you brutalized her mentally and emotionally during the years of your marriage, and I see every day the long-term damage you did to her. I'm lucky she opened up enough to let me in so I can try to fix what you broke in her. And I'm telling you, I'm not going to stand by and watch you do that to another woman."

"Joss was a nag. Always whining. Complaining about every little thing I did." Carter crossed his arms. "She's turning my son into a little copy of herself. I'm tough on him because I don't want my son to turn into a whiny little bitch like her."

John Reese snapped.


	17. Chapter 17: Fight

**Chapter 17: Fight**

Carter never even saw it coming. One moment he was upright, arms folded; the next moment he was on his back on the sidewalk, seeing stars with a sore jaw that felt like a sledgehammer had hit it. John crouched over him, grabbed a fistful of Carter's collar as Reese hissed, "Never, _ever_ let me hear you call Joss that. Taylor is more a man than you'll ever be. Thank God he isn't like you and he's resisted all attempts by you to turn him into your clone."

Carter's fist flashed out, caught John hard under the jaw. John's teeth clicked just short of his tongue, and he stumbled back, letting go of Carter's collar. Carter got to his feet, breathing hard, eyes like hard stones.

John's blue ones were ice as he glared at Paul Carter. No more kid gloves. Carter had been asking for this, and John Reese was only too happy to give it to him.

Only a year ago, John would have folded himself away, tucked 'John' in the back of his mind and let the coolly methodical, calculating assassin named 'Reese' out to play. But now, John wasn't willing to take a backseat to Reese—and Reese didn't want him to. John used Reese to plan Carter's takedown—and Reese used John's love for Joss Carter to rein himself in. He wasn't sure what Joss would think if her ex-husband ended up in the hospital—no matter how dearly John would have loved to put him there.

Carter rushed him again, and John was forcibly reminded that he was ex-military, like John himself. He was using a lot of the same moves that John remembered teaching recruits about hand-to-hand combat as a First Sergeant.

But there was a difference, and the difference was Special Forces. Paul Carter moved like someone in a regular army unit; there was none of the hyperawareness of surroundings that John had learned later in Delta training. None of the extra body positioning that John had learned to protect vulnerabilities.

Like that weakened ankle.

Joss had a weakness like that; the landmine that had blown a hole in her side and left those radiating scar lines had given her an occasional ache in her side when she overused those muscles—her abdominals and obliques. Having a c-section with Taylor hadn't helped that along, either; there was now intensive scarring on the muscles of her abdomen as well as on the inner surface of her intestines, liver, and right kidney, due to the shrapnel from that landmine. She never talked about it, didn't make a big deal about it, but John knew just how traumatic that injury had been, knew what the long-term effects were from those injuries. There had been a lot of soldiers, some of whom he'd known personally, who died from landmines, either the explosion or the wounds from one exploding . She was very good at hiding it, ignoring it, but after a strenuous session in the gym, he had seen her start to favor that side a little.

Usually that was his signal to stop, but she'd pointed out irritably one day that if she were in a real fight out on the street, whoever she was fighting against wouldn't be so considerate as to stop when she got sore, and so he shouldn't either. He'd tried to point out to her, equally irritably, that she'd gotten good enough to hold off or put out of commission any assailant except another Special Forces trained veteran like himself, and so it wasn't necessary for her to push herself. He'd also reminded her pointedly that if any fight lasted that long, it was certainly long enough for him to reach her and put an end to it rather quickly. But she'd simply kept attacking him until he had to defend, pushing herself past what he considered her limits. And so he'd taught her how to position her arms and body so that she wouldn't take punches or kicks to that old wound, showed her how to protect her side without seeming obvious about it, how to defend without having to overwork or overuse those muscles.

But Paul Carter hadn't had the benefit of that training; wasn't really in fighting shape, as John was, as John had taken care to keep himself. Soon after he'd taken Harold's job offer, he'd bought a cheap membership at a local gym because although his life as a homeless bum hadn't given him a lot of calories to turn into fat, he had lost some of his reflexes, lost some of his edge, and he'd figured with this job he now had as Harold's fixer, he'd better get that edge back rather quickly. He'd kept that membership up until Harold had gifted them a year ago with keys to their own private gym, but even now he still wandered in on occasion to be able to spar with new opponents. Sparring with Joss and Shaw had its moments, but every once in a while he wanted to spar with someone new and unpredictable.

So when Carter closed with him again, John deliberately didn't get out of the way. Instead he closed with the other man, both of them trading punches, neither of them gaining the upper hand. John could have ended this easily; Carter wasn't really a match for John himself—but he was gaining a dark vicious satisfaction in knowing Carter was going to be sporting some bruises on various body parts later. Just like Joss had endured a bruised soul and battered emotions, Paul Carter was now going to suffer physically what he'd inflicted on Joss emotionally.

He saw movement out the corner of his eye, saw Brandy Brewer throwing her car door open and rush across the road. He was about to break it off, not wanting her to get caught in it, but to his surprise a figure he hadn't noticed stepped out from the shadows by a lamp pole on the corner and catch the woman's arm.

Sam Shaw.

He smiled inwardly to himself. _Probably having fun watching Carter try and fight me. Heck, she probably wishes she could get a couple licks in herself._

* * *

Sam wouldn't have missed this for the world.

Fortunately for her, Finch had kept the phone line open between the three of them, though he muted John's end so that John wouldn't know he was being listened to—though Shaw would have bet real money that he knew Finch at least, was monitoring him. He probably suspected she was lurking, too—Sam made no secret how useless she thought males generally were (though she made exceptions for John and Harold), and had never minced words when it came to Joss's ex—although she never said anything in Joss's hearing. She knew Joss still cared about the man, though for the life of her Sam couldn't understand why. Paul Carter had no redeeming characteristics as far as she could see, and she wouldn't lose any sleep if he crossed paths with her one night and she had an opportunity to put a bullet in him.

She'd felt her own jaw drop when Carter made his comment about Joss being a 'bitch', and she heard Finch actually gasp on his end—right before John Reese piled into Paul Carter.

Well, he might not be getting bullets in him, but John was certainly out to pound some sense into him. Sam could see several times when John could have ended it, but he didn't. Although a few of Carter's punches did land, they weren't in places where they'd cause real pain; but Sam had a feeling Joss would raise an eyebrow at some of those bruises later.

"Ms. Shaw, I believe you may want to remain on guard. I may need you to step in."

She snorted. "Seriously, Harold? Are you watching the same fight I'm watching?"

"I am perfectly serious, Ms. Shaw. I see two men pounding on each other with everything they have."

"Then you're not seeing what I'm seeing. John's playing with him, Harold. He could have ended it a while ago. He's out to teach Carter a lesson. About time." A movement caught her eye, and she saw Brandy Brewer climbing out of her car, pausing just a moment to check traffic presumably before hurrying to Paul Carter's side.

And thus ruining John's—and Sam's—fun.

She stepped out of the shadows, caught the other woman's arm. "You don't want to do that."

"But...that man's going to kill Paul!"

"Paul Carter almost killed the woman he loves. I'd say he's getting off easy."

Brandy Brewer stared at Sam. "Paul wouldn't—he wouldn't…"

Sam glared at her. Jesus, how stupid could the woman be? Did she not know about Paul's past? "Did you know Carter was married before?"

"I…yes, but Paul never talks about her. I think it ended badly; I heard a bit of a conversation he had with a woman at a business mixer a week ago. I told Paul after the mixer that even if she is his ex, she had his son and he shouldn't talk to her that way."

"Yep, that was Joss. And how did he react when you told him that?"

Brewer's ducked head and suddenly evasive glance told Sam what she needed to know. "Has he ever had…rough sex…with you?"

"He…doesn't know his own strength." Brewer's face was pink.

"Joss said the same thing. They were married for about five years, and during that time, there were several occasions where she experienced something that she calls 'a night of rough sex.' Her son described seeing blood on their bed after one of those nights."

Brewer was staring at Sam open-mouthed.

"She refuses to call it what it is, but I have no problems." Sam glared at Brewer. "It's called spousal rape. She didn't want it and he did it anyway. He left her scarred internally. Last year when she was sexually assaulted by a serial killer, he tore all of that old scar tissue open inside her and she was in the hospital for a week fighting for her life, battling blood loss, soft tissue trauma, and infection." Sam nodded in John's direction. "That's what John's upset about. Paul Carter nearly killed Joss."

"I…didn't know. I…keep thinking maybe I'll be able to calm him down a bit…"

"No. You won't. He's going to take advantage of you, hurt you, and break you down emotionally and mentally until you're dependent on him, and then…well, we're women and you know as well as I do how that story ends." She tipped her head in John's direction. "The first woman John ever loved died when the man she left him for killed her in a domestic dispute. He never loved anyone again until Joss—and he sees every day what kind of emotional and physical damage Paul Carter did to Joss." She fixed her dark eyes on Brandy Brewer. "He doesn't know you. But he still wants to keep the same thing from happening to you."

Brandy Brewer stood beside Sam silently for a moment, until John landed a punch to Paul Carter's jaw that sent the other man sprawling. Sam saw the purpose behind the punch; John was done playing. Time to end it. Brewer must have figured that out too, because she started across the street toward the two men; but she wasn't running, her strides were even and firm.

* * *

John had seen Sam stop the woman, speak to her. He wasn't close enough to hear what Sam said, but whatever it was, it was making Brandy pause. He decided to end it just as Sam finished speaking and Brandy started walking toward him and Paul; a stiff uppercut to Paul's jaw laid the man out on the sidewalk with a little added help from a leg sweep, then knelt and grabbed a handful of Carter's shirt, forcing Carter to pay attention to him.

His next words were as much for her benefit as for Carter. "I'm keeping an eye on you. If I see you doing to any woman what you did to Joss, breaking her and trying to make her dependent on you so you could feel like the one 'in control', this fight we just had will be child's play." He had to force his fingers to uncurl from Carter's collar; John was never, ever going to forgive Carter for what the man had just said about Joss. And Taylor—his own son.

But John got hold of himself. If he hit Carter any more, Joss might face some unpleasant questions. And he'd noticed that instead of running to Carter's side, Brewer had stopped short a few feet away from him as she'd listened to John's words. And then she deliberately turned her back on Carter as he sat dazedly on the pavement, and never looked back as she got into her car and drove away.

John didn't look back either as he got into the GTO and peeled out.

* * *

"I must congratulate you on your restraint, John," came Harold's clipped voice in John's ear a block later. "I rather expected something…more dramatic."

"He wasn't worth it, Finch," John growled. "I wanted to hit him a little more, make him have to get stitches like Joss had to get stitches, but it's not worth getting Joss upset over. She doesn't need to know about this—and neither does Taylor. I don't want to turn Taylor away from his father—he is Carter's son, after all."

"Taylor's got a lot more sense than his father," came a new voice in John's ear. Sam. "And so do you, John. Thought I was going to be watching a show. Kinda disappointed me."

"So sorry to ruin your day," John shot back with good-humored sarcasm. "But I have a nice evening planned with Joss and I don't want it spoiled by her being upset because I put her ex in the hospital."

"Come on, not even she could say he didn't deserve that. I heard what he said."

"We both heard what he said," Finch said grimly.

"It wouldn't surprise me at all if Joss decided to haul off and hit him herself for what he said. In fact, I think I might even set him up myself. I think I could play the shrinking violet long enough to get involved with him, then teach him a good lesson once and for all that he should be nicer to girls." Sam said with sweet viciousness.

"Sam, you wouldn't!" Harold and John both exclaimed at once.

"Sure I would," she said, perfectly serious. "Look, John, you can try to pound some sense into him, but he's a thickheaded male, just like you."

"Am not."

She smiled; fortunately, she was in her own car and he wouldn't see it. "I see what Joss means about you and Taylor starting to sound like each other."

Silence.

She shook her head and returned to their subject without further comment. "It took Joss nearly dying before you could admit to her and to yourself that you loved her. Carter's the same way. Something's going to have to wake him up to the fact that women aren't just toys for him to play with emotionally, and I'd be perfectly happy to beat the shit out of him and teach him that lesson."

"Joss won't appreciate the interference," Harold said warningly.

"You know what? I don't really care. The fact that the Machine gave us Brandy Brewer's number means Carter didn't learn anything when Joss left. She and Taylor would be even more heartbroken if they found out he got killed because he toyed with the wrong person." Then she stopped, considered. "You know what, maybe not. Taylor might not be that broken up about it. He doesn't have a very high regard for his father, and Carter can't see that." She sighed. "And yeah, I know Joss would be mad at me if I decided to do it. Hell, if she finds out what we've all been doing this afternoon she'll be pissed at all of us. But she's a big girl. She'll get over it."

"Easy for you to say." John grumbled. "I have to live with her while she 'gets over it'."

"You don't have to. You do maintain a separate apartment for just this eventuality—for those times when you have to hide from her."

"No hiding from her anymore. It wasn't the best decision I ever made," John sighed.

"Mine either," Harold said ashamedly from his end of the connection.

Sam grinned. "Well, look at that. The thick-headed males finally got some sense. Joss really is good for you guys. Both of you."

"Shaw..." John started warningly.

She just laughed at both of them and disconnected the call.


	18. Chapter 18: Birthday

**Chapter 18: Birthday **

_Author's Note: If this chapter seems short, well, that's because a whole page or so had to be taken out of the beginning to comply with content guidelines. If you'd like to read the whole thing, and your age allows, please feel free to PM me for the entire version. Reading the unedited chapter is not necessary to full understanding of the story however, so it's not a biggie if you miss it. Thanks for reading! Enjoy!_

* * *

_Damn, the man's got some heavy fists_, John thought ruefully as he got out of the GTO in front of Joss's apartment. _Thank God he never physically hit Joss. If he had he probably would have put her in the hospital, or killed her. _Like Peter had killed Jessica.

The scuffle hadn't been all that long or physically taxing, but Carter had managed to land a couple of punches—one in particular to John's side, where Walker's fists had fractured one of John's ribs while he and Simmons had tortured John in the Canal Street warehouse. Although the Guardians' doctor, Ed Steen, had said the rib was healed, John could still feel where it had fractured.

He used his key to let himself in the front door, wincing a little as he carefully set the pan of lasagna down on her counter, then turned on the kitchen light. He set his keys quietly down on the counter, not stealthily because he didn't want to wake Joss up, but no more noisily than Taylor did when he came home.

Lasagna in the oven, he stripped off his shirt and carefully checked himself. A few red areas that would turn into bruises later, but nothing major. The worst one was going to be that patch on his ribs, but other than that, no cuts, scrapes or abrasions. Just dirt and grime on his skin from where his shirt had torn while wrestling with Carter on the street.

He should probably wash up before Joss awoke if he didn't want her asking questions about what he'd done with his day; he had promised never to lie to her, after all, and he fully intended to keep that promise. Her bedroom door was open, but the room was dark; he could see that much down the end of the hall. So he stopped in his bedroom—it was the closest one to the kitchen, with Taylor's room being in the middle between his and Joss's rooms—and dropped the torn shirt in the wastebasket, reaching into the bottom drawer of the dresser for another casual shirt; then he headed down the hall to the bathroom. The door was closed, but there was a light on; supposing that Taylor or Joss had simply forgotten to turn the light off when they'd last used it, he simply turned the knob and walked in.

And froze.

It took a full minute to mentally process what he was seeing; his body, however, didn't need nearly that long to figure out what was going on and his pants were rather abruptly several sizes too tight...

* * *

"I have to admit, I was not expecting to see you here," she said over her forkful of lasagna.

"I was not expecting to walk into the bathroom and see you like that," he countered with a naughty sideways glance. "You need to lock the bathroom door when you're in it, Joss."

She rolled her eyes...but grinned at the same time. "A locked bathroom door never stopped you before."

He flushed. "That was different. You were in pain and you needed help."

"I welcomed your help this time, too," she pointed out with that slyly wicked smile.

"I...yeah..." and then he finally gave voice to what he'd been thinking. "Jesus, Joss. I know you said the doctor said that you should...get toys...but I wasn't expecting..." He blew out his breath. "That was hot."

"Really?" she said, putting her plate down and giving him her full attention.

"Yeah. When we've been in bed before, Joss, I was always so focused on what we both wanted and needed that I didn't really get a chance to pay attention to what you actually looked like when you're...excited. I finally got to see that. It was..." he cleared his throat, shifted his hips where he sat on the couch. "Wow."

She giggled, returned to her dinner. "I've missed you. So much. The last one I got because it's the same size as you, and when it's…inside…I can imagine it's you."

He stared at his lap as his befuddled mind tried to process what she was saying. "It's…the same size…"

She tilted her head, looking puzzled, although that was somehow adorably sexy. "John, we've been together for long enough that I know every inch of you. I know what you feel like. I don't want to stretch out too much—Paul complained I was too loose after Taylor's birth, he really wanted me to have surgery to fix that problem—but I do still want to be able to make love to you. It's crazy—I feel like a lovesick teenager all over again." Her voice dropped. "Almost like it was when I first met Paul—I felt like I couldn't keep my hands off him. Except that now, with you, it's different, somehow. It's more than a feeling, this time, I really _can't_ keep my hands off you. I thought, after what…what Walker did…I'd never want anyone to touch me again. Liv told me it would pass, but I wondered…and I wondered if you'd ever want to touch me again after I deliberately let another man touch me. But you never looked at me like that—you never looked at me like I'd cheated on you, or like you thought I betrayed you."

"Joss…I never…I would never..." he realized he was almost stuttering, stopped to collect his thoughts, take a deep breath. He didn't know this was what she'd been thinking; the thought that she had 'betrayed' him had never even crossed his mind. "Joss, I never even thought about that. The only thing I remember is opening my eyes in that warehouse and you telling me that I was the other half of your soul, and because of that you couldn't let me go. Even if it meant leaving Taylor without a mother, you still couldn't do it." He frowned, dug in his memory. "That night at the hospital, when you tried to keep me from playing decoy...I reminded you then that your son needed you. And you hesitated and then Lionel pulled you away. This time...I'd come to mean so much to you that you were willing to leave Taylor without his mother." He leaned in, disregarding tomato sauce and cheese, and kissed her. "No one has ever loved me the way you do, and no one ever will again. I love you, Joss Carter."

"I love you too, John Reese." She kissed him back, and dinner was forgotten.

* * *

It was quiet in the bedroom. They'd made love on the couch, finished dinner, then headed for the bedroom again. She'd been a little tighter then than in the bath, or on the couch, and that had required a little more foreplay...but John was only too happy to indulge, and they'd both drifted for a while, spent and happy. It wasn't until nearly midnight when they both woke, but neither wanted to get out of bed; instead they'd just cuddled. When Joss's phone buzzed on her night table with a text message, he lifted an arm to let her roll over and check it. She'd looked at the screen quietly for a couple minutes, then deposited the phone back on her night table and curled up closer next to him. For long moments he could feel her thinking, though she didn't say anything; just when he thought she was going to sleep, she spoke. "So what did you do today?"

"Not much," he said lazily. "Quiet morning. Took Bear to the park, went to the gym for a couple of hours, stopped at the market on the way back to my place for the lasagna ingredients, and did the major prep work there before bringing it here. Cooked it in your oven while we were...playing...in the bathroom."

"You had some interesting-looking bruises on you. I wasn't in a position to notice much in the bathroom, but I did notice that."

"Had a number in the middle of the day. Harold called Sam and I. It didn't take long."

"Is Paul in the hospital?" Her tone was unreadable.

He twisted to stare at her. "How the hell..."

"Sam."

That one syllable told him everything he needed to know. "She texted you just now." It wasn't a question, but Joss nodded in answer anyway.

He lay back against the pillow, groaned. "I thought we'd agreed not to tell you."

"You and Harold might have agreed. Sam does her own thing."

"I should have expected it. She said you'd be pissed at us if you found out what we did this afternoon, but she said you'd get over it."

"Well, you do have a separate apartment if you need to hide from me. I promise I won't go looking unless I think you're in trouble." Her tone had a teasing edge to it.

"No. No hiding. Not from you. We promised never to lie to each other, but hiding from you and avoiding you was its own lie, in a way—a way to avoid facing the truth. Not the most mature thing I've ever done, come to think of it...and what kind of example would I be for Taylor if I kept that up?"

"You're worried about Taylor?" Surprise.

He frowned in the darkness. "Of course I worry about him. He needs a stable male figure and his father certainly isn't stepping up—or suitable, based on what I saw this afternoon."

"What happened?" A question, but she didn't sound angry. Or upset. He gave a mental sigh and decided to be honest with her.

"The number we got was his new girlfriend. Brandy Brewer. Harold looked at all of her connections and couldn't find any direction that any threat to her life could possibly come from except Paul Carter. Harold called Sam first because he wasn't sure about what you'd think if I got involved, but Sam refused to get involved and Harold had to call me. He said her exact words were 'I'm going to sell tickets.'"

The bed vibrated; Joss was laughing silently beside him. Good, so he wasn't in trouble, and it didn't look like he was going to spend the rest of the night on the couch or back at his apartment. At least right now.

Might be a different story when he told her he'd gotten into a physical fight. "Paul and I exchanged words. He called you a nag, a whiner. And he said...you were turning Taylor into a copy of yourself."

"That wasn't exactly what he said." She'd picked up on his hesitation.

"I don't want to repeat what he said."

"John." Flat. A warning.

He took a deep breath. "Paul said you were turning Taylor into a little bitch like yourself."

"Son of a bitch." Joss returned the favor.

He sighed. "I tried to keep my temper, but after he said that I lost it. We got in a fight, traded punches. I have to admit I wasn't trying really hard to end it, I really wanted to knock him around some more."

"That's what Sam said." Joss reached over to her night table and grabbed her phone, handing it to him so he could read the text Sam had sent her_. If you're wondering where John got those bruises, they were from Paul Carter. After Carter called you a bitch. John was a lot easier on him than I would have been. _

"Harold and I figured we wouldn't tell you."

"You guys didn't count on Sam."

He rolled his eyes. "No. We didn't. Although we should have."

She chuckled. "You guys have a bad habit of underestimating us girls. Thing is, I let you think that. Sam will take advantage of it."

"Tattletale," he growled at the phone screen.

Joss laughed at him, leaned over to kiss him; moments later, everything was forgotten.


	19. Chapter 19: First Date

**Chapter 19: First Date**

_Bzzz._

John's glare caught Taylor in the act of reaching for the cellphone next to his plate. Taylor rolled his eyes. "Aw, John, c'mon!"

"No cellphone calls at the table. This is our time." Taylor sighed and returned his attention to his plate.

Barely seconds later, Joss's phone buzzed, vibrating with an incoming text message. And Joss picked hers up, blinking innocently at John's glare. "What?"

"Joss, I just got done telling Taylor no cellphone conversations at the table. Now you're answering yours." If his eyes had been lasers, her cellphone would have melted. "If it's not an absolute emergency at work, you shouldn't answer it at the dinner table."

"I don't remember making that rule." She pouted.

He had to fight his automatic impulse to just give in. God, but she was adorable when she pouted like that. "You didn't. I did."

She sighed, rolled her eyes just as Taylor had moments before, then put her phone down beside her plate and picked up her fork. "Okay, fine," she complained, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth that told him she was going to discuss it with him later. And he decided he was going to tell her straight out why he'd established that rule—to give her and Taylor bonding time.

As soon as his plate was empty Taylor snatched his phone; John had to fight the smile as Joss did the same thing. Taylor spoke first. "Lia says her Dad and Mom said it was okay to go out with us!"

"Yeah, she said the same thing. But he said also that her Dad said she can go to Junior prom and he's going to send her more money to get a nice dress with." Joss was busy with her phone. "Ooh, she even sent me a picture of the one she wants." A moment of silence. "That's a pretty dress."

Taylor leaned across the table to look; she snatched her phone out of his line of sight. "You can't see it until the dance."

"Mom, we're going to a _dance_, not getting_ married_!" Taylor folded his arms and glared at his mother across the table. "John says the guy's supposed to bring the flowers. How will I know what flowers to get if I don't see the dress?"

"Same way you did the last time." Joss gave Taylor and John both a big, wide smile. "You didn't have to see the dress then." She grinned. "We'll go shopping for a dress later. First we'll go out to a nice restaurant to give the both of you some practice." She was already busy typing a text message to Lia as John got up and started gathering their plates.

"Since when did _you_ start texting _my_ girlfriend?" Taylor demanded. John turned to rebuke the boy for speaking sharply to his mother, but even as he turned around he saw Taylor's eyes sparkle with laughter that belied the tone of his voice.

"Since when did _you_ start texting _my_ boyfriend?" Joss countered, her fingers still flying.

"Oh, _sooo_ gross." John turned quickly to the sink to keep from laughing at the two of them. Yes, his plan to keep mother and son close by instituting family dinners was working. However, on a second thought, the no cellphone conversation at the table rule should change to 'no cellphones at the table'. Period.

Then again, he was enjoying this little exchange. And that reminded him… "Taylor. My employer owns some properties in the city—some nice hotels and executive clubs in historic buildings available for rent. You mentioned that Kylie's dad works at that big hotel downtown, that was how her senior class got such a nice venue for their prom, so how about taking a look at a couple of places I thought might be suitable and letting me know what you think?"

"Your employer? Mr. Finch? You know, I never asked, but what _do_ you do? Besides running around getting me and Mom out of trouble."

Joss's face was red, she was trying so hard to keep from laughing. John was fighting to keep a straight face himself. Fortunately, thanks to his and Harold's conversation a short while ago, he could answer that. "I'm his Head of Security."

Taylor frowned. "Like a bodyguard?"

The muscles in John's side were hurting. "Sort of like that."

"Oh." Taylor digested that. "Well, you must be awfully good at your job, then. He must like you a lot."

"Um…you could say that." There was a choked sound from Joss; John didn't dare look in her direction. If he did he was positive he was going to start laughing himself. "So what do you think?"

"Is it going to be like the same boring old hotel, or maybe something different, something exciting?" Taylor's eyes got a speculative gleam.

"Harold—Mr. Finch—has a number of hotels, but if you're thinking something a bit more exotic, perhaps you should discuss it with him. In the meantime, brush off that suit you got for the Valentine's day dance. Joss, when is good for Lia to do the restaurant training?"

"Training? You make it sound like work. This is supposed to be fun—a double date." Taylor complained. "With parents, though."

"Well, if you like, you and Lia can sit at a separate table. Close enough to be with us but not close enough that our conversation intrudes on yours. This will also be good practice on how to carry on conversation in a polite environment." John paused as Joss's phone chimed with an incoming text message.

"She says Friday evening. There's a big History test Friday afternoon and she wants to be able to relax and enjoy herself, not worry about her tests, so she wants to go afterward. But she does have to be home by eight."

John nodded. "That will work. I'll call ahead and make reservations."

"Where are we going?" Taylor asked.

John grinned. "It's a surprise."

* * *

"She wants us to pick her up from the library?" Joss frowned at Taylor.

"Yeah. Lia said she didn't want to go through all of her Aunt's unpleasant comments like she went through the last time, and John was pretty uncomfortable too, so Lia said she'd put on her dress, put a coat over it, and walk to the library—it's only a block away from her house—and we can pick her up there. It'll be okay."

"No, it's not okay. Tell her we're going to pick her up from her Aunt and Uncle's house, Taylor. She might not like them much, but they are her guardians and they do deserve to know who she's going with." There was silence in the car as Taylor texted that to Lia; moments later his phone chimed back at him. "She says okay but to please not be insulted if her Aunt is rude."

"I can handle rudeness." Joss said cheerfully. "I want to make sure they know who she's going with."

When John pulled up in front of the house, she and Taylor both got out and headed up the front walk. She'd opted for a calf-length narrow black pencil skirt and a white button-down blouse with subtle threads of silver in it, and hoped she looked okay as the door opened. "Hi, I'm Jocelyn Carter, this is my son Taylor, we're here to pick Lia up for dinner."

The woman who'd opened the door was clearly Indian, but she didn't really look much like Lia at all—Joss surmised that Lia must take after her father because there was almost no familial resemblance. She stood glowering at Joss and Taylor for nearly a full minute. "You are going to stay with the children?" she finally said in heavily-accented English.

"Yes, they'll be in my sight the entire time." Joss answered back with what she hoped was a disarming smile.

The woman looked at Taylor."She says she likes you very much. You also like her?"

"I wouldn't be taking her to dances if I didn't."

"In northern India where we are from boys want girls with lighter skin. They are considered more desirable as a wife. Lia would not be highly favored because she has darker skin."

Joss stared, having no idea what to say to this, but Taylor looked at the woman steadily and said, "I don't care what color her skin is. It's not important. I like her for who she is, not for what color she is."

"You are going to college to study computers, Lia says?"

"Yes. Computer security."

The woman nodded to herself, then addressed Joss directly. "Lia's virtue is not at risk?"

Joss nearly choked. "No, Lia's virtue is not at risk. I will kill Taylor myself if he puts a hand on her."

"Who was the man who came to pick Lia up for her...school dance?" Aunt Savi said it like it was a bad word.

"John is my friend." 'Boyfriend' didn't adequately describe what John was to her, and somehow she didn't think the word 'lover' would go over well in present company. 'Friend' was easier.

The woman's face soured. Remembering her earlier words about boys in India liking women with lighter skin, Joss guessed the woman was thinking about John's skin color—and hers. "You are not married?"

Joss blinked. This was getting a bit personal. "Not anymore."

"This man John is not your husband? Where is your husband? Is he dead?"

What was this, an interrogation? Joss felt like an insect under a microscope. "No." She knew Aunt Savi was fishing for information, but Joss just looked steadily back at her. Her personal life wasn't any of this woman's business. Finally the woman stepped back. "Lia!"

There was a sound of rushing footsteps overhead, and moments later Lia was on the stairs. She was wearing a dress, a deep purple, almost black tank dress that came down just past her knees, opaque tights and black buckled shoes, looking every inch a modest young lady. But her eyes sparkled with excitement as she saw Taylor and Joss—an excitement mirrored in Taylor's eyes. _He really does like her,_ Joss thought to herself.

"You will be back at eight o'clock." The woman addressed Lia, though her comment was also aimed at Joss. "Good Hindu girls are not to be out after sunset. I am making an exception because you will be chaperoned but you will be back at eight."

"Yes, Aunt Savi," Lia said obediently.

Joss resisted the entirely childish impulse to mirror Lia's tone and words. "We'll have her back at eight. Our reservation's in half an hour and we have two hours for the lesson." Aunt Savi looked like she'd bitten a lemon, but she stepped out of the way and let Taylor, Lia, and Joss walk out the front door.

* * *

"Okay, are we all set?" Joss turned in her seat and looked at the two kids sitting quietly behind her in the back seat of John's GTO.

Taylor nodded eagerly, trading grins with Lia. She was sitting in the back seat next to him, hands folded demurely in her lap, the picture of a quiet young girl. But her eyes were dancing with barely-suppressed excitement. "Yes, Ms. Carter," she said. "We're ready."

"Okay. First lesson. Taylor, get out of the car and open her door for her."

"But I can open my own door!" Lia blinked.

"No, no, no," Joss said as the girl reached toward he door handle. "Yes, we can open our own doors, but for something like this, you should let the guy do it." And she leaned in, spoke in a stage whisper. "It makes them feel important."

"Mom!" Taylor exclaimed.

"Joss," John sighed.

"Ignore them. Just do what I do." And Joss sat back in her seat and said sweetly to John, "Are you going to open my door for me?"

John ginned at her. "Of course, Miz Carter." He got out of the car, locked his door, and came around to her side—with Taylor—and both guys opened the passenger side car doors for their respective dates. Joss had thought about wearing a pant suit for this, but decided in the end to wear a skirt so she could show Lia how to move gracefully in one.

John held out a hand to her, and she took it in her own. "If you really need help getting out of the car—if your date is driving an SUV or a pickup, for instance—you definitely want to have help, especially if you're wearing a skirt. But in situations where you know you'll do fine on you own, just take your date's hand lightly. Lean on his hand just enough that he feels useful, but not so much that he thinks you actually needed his help get out. You do want to exert your independence, but you want to do that subtly."

John closed the car door for her, and they all paused a moment for Taylor to do the same for Lia, and for Lia to smooth down her skirt. As they started walking toward the front door of the Italian restaurant, John muttered under his breath, too low for Taylor or Lia to hear, "So that's why Jessica and Zoe used to do that. I always wondered why I had to help them out of the car when they didn't need help."

"We don't. We just flatter you into thinking we do." She smiled cheerfully at his disgruntled look. "Don't worry. It's something written in female. You're doing great."

"Who's giving the lesson here, Joss? You or me?"

She grinned at him. "Looks like we're all going to learn something from this."

They had already called ahead and made reservations; John had asked for adjacent tables so each 'couple' could have their own privacy for their own conversation but still be close enough for John or Joss to give the kids directions. Lia had showed Joss her parents' email to her in the car on the way over. _Would love to be there with you watching you grow up, but it's not possible. I'm glad you have someone to help you out. Love you, Emmy. Mom and Dad_. Joss had felt her eyes sting as she read the brief email; it was evident that Lia's parents loved her and missed her. "Do you get to go back to India and see your Mom and Dad during the summer?"

"No, I stay in the States. My visa does have to be renewed every year but Dad and Mom usually sign the paperwork from where they are and then send that to me."

"Do you miss them?"

"Every day." There was real fervency in Lia's words. "But school is better here than in India, and I like it here better than I liked it back home. I just wish I could see Dad and Mom more."

Joss wondered why they would send their daughter to school here when they obviously loved and missed her so much, but it wasn't her place to get involved and it was none of her business. But as she'd escorted Lia and Taylor down the sidewalk to where John waited in the car, she'd decided she was going to make this as much of a 'family fun outing' as she possibly could—thinking about the fun she and Taylor (and now John) had at her place made her resent even more the chill sterility of Lia's guardians' apartment. She worked hard in school, she was a good kid, and Joss liked her.

The restaurant was an Italian one on the street level of one of the biggest hotels in Manhattan. Joss was glad she'd elected to wear a somber black; it was perfect for this restaurant, and so was Lia's eggplant-purple dress. And despite Joss declaring this was as much of her lesson for Lia as it was John's lesson for Taylor, it appeared that Lia's manners were naturally impeccable for this setting; as they waited for the hostess to locate an empty table for them, Lia sat quietly, hands folded neatly in her lap. Taylor, she noticed, was on his best behavior; no slouching, none of that nervous habit he had of chewing his fingernails, although his unusual restraint from both those objectionable activities could have been explained by John's watchful eye. Taylor didn't want to disappoint John as much as he didn't want to disappoint her.

And when the hostess finally escorted them to a table, Taylor watched John pull a chair out for Joss, then copied the action himself. Lia sat down, thanked Taylor sweetly, and then Taylor took his own seat. Joss watched in silent amusement as John picked up the menu and scanned it, noticing that Taylor copied every move John made, exactly; not in an exaggerated fashion, but earnestly. He was really trying to learn from John, and it touched her even as she wished this could have been Taylor's own father_. I really wish life had been kinder to John. He'd have made a great father. _

She tried to ignore the tiny voice down deep inside her that said he'd have made a great husband too.


	20. Chapter 20: Ristorante Italiano

**Chapter 20: Ristorante Italiano**

"Cozy al Burro? What's that?"

Across the table from him, Lia giggled as she looked at her own menu. "Cot-zay al Bu-ro," she corrected his pronunciation. "'_Cozze_' are mussels, and '_burro_' is butter. So it's mussels in butter."

"Oh. Okay, that doesn't sound bad." Taylor looked at his menu again. "_Polpetti e calamari_'?"

"No," Joss said quickly before Lia could speak. "You're not going to like that, Taylor. It's baby octopus and squid."

Taylor started to wrinkle his face in a grimace, but a stern look from John arrested that before he could finish. Lia had to bring her menu up to hide her face as she giggled.

"Do you want me to order for you?" She asked finally, sweetly, getting herself under control.

Taylor looked at her gratefully. "If you know what this stuff is, please," he said, and the look on his face made Lia giggle all over again.

"All right, how about we start with a _mista verde_, then go to _spaghettini con gambieri_? There aren't any wildly exotic ingredients that you might not like, all of this is familiar."

"Um, I know what 'spaghettini' is—it's pasta—but I'm not sure what 'gambieri' is."

"Shrimp. I think I might have to teach you Italian. My Dad made the best homemade ravioli, oh wow, I forgot how much I miss Dad's cooking..."

* * *

Seeing the kids engrossed in their conversation, Joss and John turned their attention to their own menus. "Didn't know you spoke Italian, Ms. Carter."

"I don't," Joss grinned mischievously. "But I've heard of calamari before and I knew Taylor wouldn't like it. We were at an oriental restaurant once, a long time ago, and they had whole baby octopus in pepper sauce. Taylor turned a little green."

John tried—and failed—to keep a smile off his face. "How old was he? If he was very young, I can imagine he'd be slightly shocked—" He broke off, looking past her. "What the hell?"

She turned in her chair to see what had surprised him so much...and nearly swore in surprise herself. The hostess had a well-dressed man with a pronounced limp and a younger woman wearing a simple black pant suit on his arm.

Harold Finch and Sam Shaw.

"I told Sam that we were bringing the kids here tonight...what are they doing here?"

John barely had time to shake his head before Harold and Sam were pulling out chairs from the table next to Joss and John. "Thank you, Nadine," Harold said to the hostess graciously.

"My pleasure, Mr. Harold. It's been a while since you've paid us a visit."

"I've been regrettably busy. I know I never come here as often as the menu and the chef deserve, but this time my extended absence was quite inexcusable. Hence my presence here tonight to remedy the matter." He looked at John and Joss, as if seeing them for the first time. "Oh. Hello, Mr. Reese, Ms. Carter."

"Hello, Harold." John said evenly, pleasantly, as Sam seated herself in the chair across the table from Harold. "Imagine running into you here, tonight, of all nights." Joss shot Sam a questioning look, which Sam returned with an unreadable one of her own. Joss settled back in her seat. She wasn't going to ask Sam about it now, but later would be a different story.

"Do you all know each other?" The hostess asked curiously.

"Nadine, this is Ms. Sam Shaw, my defense hardware advisor. That's Mr. John Reese, my head of security, and my legal affairs consultant, Ms. Jocelyn Carter; her son, Mr. Taylor Carter, is at the other table with a young friend of his acquaintance, Ms. Riante."

"Pleased to meet you." Nadine tipped her head slightly in everyone's direction, but focused back on Harold almost immediately. "Would you like your usual? It's been a while since you were last here but I do remember that."

"Actually, I'd heard you added Chef Gianni Scaglio to the staff. I have heard his cooking is excellent but have not yet had a chance to try it for myself, and I would like to try one of the dishes he's known for. Can I start with the _bruschetta al salmone_, a plate for two to share with Ms. Shaw, please; then follow with the _insalata del Cesare_. For the main course, _penne saporite_ for me, please." He looked up at Sam. "As it was your idea to come here, Ms. Shaw, do you have a dining preference?"

"The house salad, to start, and then the penne pasta in vodka, please." Apparently Sam wasn't in the mood to try and pronounce the Italian words.

Nadine was writing on her order pad. "And for you, Mr. Reese, Ms. Carter?"

John smiled graciously. "The _cocktail di gamberetti_ to start, both for Ms. Carter and myself. Then the _bistecca alla griglia_ for me, and I believe Ms. Carter would like the _lasagna_." A smile from her as she remembered the night he'd made lasagna for her. He'd never forget that night.

Lia spoke. "I'd like to start with the _antipasto Italiano_, please, a plate for two. Followed by the _zuppa di tortellini_, and for the main course, the _scaloppine alla piccata_. And for Taylor, the _insalata della casa_—the house salad Ms Shaw asked for –and for the main course, the _gamberoni alla marino_." The Italian rolled off her tongue flawlessly, making Harold's pronunciation of the Italian dishes seem fumbling and amateurish.

Taylor looked askance at her. "What was that?"

"Trust me, you'll love it." She returned his skeptical look with an impish, mischievous smile. Taylor smiled back and shrugged.

"Excellent. And for beverage? Your usual Sencha Green, Mr. Harold? It's not on the menu but we keep a private stock of it around in case you stop in. I'm sure we still have some."

"Yes, thank you, Nadine."

"_Macciato_ for Taylor and I, please. Heavy on the milk, very light on the coffee, perhaps a dash of chocolate _liquer_ if you have it." Lia chimed in.

"The Aperol for myself and Ms. Carter. Ms. Shaw, I recommend you have that also, it's lighter on the alcohol content than the Averna or the Amaretto."

"No, I'll have the Remy Martin cognac, thank you." Sam nodded. "Probably the only thing on the menu I can pronounce."

"Then I fail to see why you insisted on coming," Harold muttered under his breath, too low for anyone but Joss, seated closest to him, to hear. And she herself was getting very curious about that too.

"Very good." Nadine nodded briskly and headed off.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Sam leaned forward. "Your defense hardware advisor, Harold? Really?"

"You would have preferred administrative assistant, Ms. Shaw? Somehow I doubt you would be able to pull off 'secretary'."

"Secretary my ass," Shaw muttered in a very unladylike tone, all the more comical for the setting they were in.

Harold raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps next time I should introduce you as my personal assistant?"

"That's worse," Sam declared, which elicited a choked giggle from Joss, and a carefully-hidden smile from John.

* * *

Lia leaned across the table toward Taylor, keeping her voice down so the adults didn't hear them. "Are they always like this?"

"Mom and John? Yeah. Mom never laughs with anyone else like she laughs with John."

"And how about...Mr. Harold and Ms. Shaw? Who are they?"

"Mr. Harold is John's employer and Miss Sam's his coworker. She's a doctor, I think, or some sort of nurse. In addition to...whatever Mr. Harold said. And John's sort of Mr. Harold's bodyguard."

Lia was staring and trying very hard not to make it obvious. "I think she's from the Middle East. Not that far from India. She sort of looks like me."

"I don't know. I never asked." Taylor looked at Shaw, then at Lia. "Okay. Maybe. Your skin's darker though."

"She's so pretty," Lia said wistfully. "I wish I looked like that."

"You look fine the way you are. Trust me. I like you. And I don't like her. Well, not that way, I guess. She's an adult—she's old."

Lia got another good look at Sam Shaw as their plates came, but was distracted from her musings by having to explain to Taylor what she'd ordered. "_Antipasto_ is simply sliced cold meats and cheeses and fruits, like olives and stuff. And I ordered you a basic house salad—the _insalata della casa_. The _gamberoni della marino_ is shrimp in wine sauce with cheese. You'll like it."

"What did you get?" Taylor looked at the steaming bowl in front of her.

"_Zuppa del tortellini_. It's soup. Tortellini in broth. And I got pork in lemon and garlic sauce—_scaloppine alla piccata_. Your Mom got lasagna and Mr. John got steak—_bistecca_. Mr. Harold got _penne saporite_—_penne_ pasta in white wine sauce with shrimp." She giggled at his expression. "When I go home after graduation I should take you with me, show you Italy for a summer and let you try real Italian food. Have you meet Dad and Mom. I'm sure they'll love you—I've told them so much about you already."

"Really?" Taylor flushed. "You talk to them about me?"

"Of course." She snagged an olive out of the _antipasto_ plate as Taylor selected a piece of cheese. "I can't talk to Aunt Savita and Uncle Avi about you, about stuff at school, so I send long chatty emails to Dad and Mom and we have regular videochats too. They said they like you." She took a bite of her soup. "I sent them the picture you sent me of you and your Mom on the precinct step. They like the fact that she's a cop, and they like what I've told them about you. They'd like to videochat with both of us at some point too, but I don't know if Aunt Savi and Uncle Avi would let me bring you over for that." She grinned at his nonplussed expression. "You talk to your Mom about me."

"Um, yeah. Well, that's Mom."

"And John."

"Yeah, but that's John. It's a guy thing. It's not like I can go ask my Dad." Taylor sighed. "I wish I could. When I was little I used to look at my Dad and think he was the coolest Dad in the world. I wanted to be just like him. Until I got older and started seeing how he hurt Mom's feelings and refused to listen to her and ignored how she thought and felt about stuff. Until I saw how selfish Dad really was."

"And John's not like that?" Lia sipped the last of the broth out of her soup bowl and put it aside as the waitress—Nadine—brought their meal to the table.

"Nah. John's cool. I can talk to him about anything. If I can't tell Mom something, I tell him, and then he tells Mom. And most of the time when she hears it from him she doesn't brush it off or dismiss it, she listens to him. And then she tells him what to do, and he tells me. I guess, to her, I'm still her little boy and she doesn't really listen, sometimes, or takes me seriously, but John always listens. He's cool like that."

"I wish I could talk to someone like that," Lia sighed. "I mean, I like Aunt Savi and Uncle Avi, but sometimes I get the feeling they don't like me much, and I know they don't like Dad because he's Italian. Aunt Savi has said that her mother—my grandmother—didn't approve of my Mom marrying my Dad. Aunt Savi said Mom's family wanted Mom to marry a Hindu man. I never could figure that out—they're not the one marrying Dad, Mom was, so why is it their business?" She stabbed at her food with a little more force than was strictly necessary. "And they expect me to behave like a good Hindu girl. But I'm not Hindu, and I don't see why I should behave like one. I appreciate that I get to live with them instead of a boarding school but I wish I could be like everyone else and do things like everyone else. Maybe I wouldn't get picked on so much."

"I think you're fine just the way you are," Taylor said loyally. "Come on, do you really want to be like Kylie and her clique? I probably wouldn't like you as much if you were."

Lia giggled, smiling. "No, I wouldn't want to be like Kylie. She's mean. I never want to be that mean." She looked up. "And being like Kylie would mean I'd have to have a boyfriend like Steve. And that would suck because I hate Steve."

"Just be you. I like you. I don't like Kylie. And I don't like Steve." At just that moment Lia's cellphone chimed politely in her purse, a notification that she had a text message coming in.

"Excuse me." She excused herself, put down her fork, and reached for her purse, hanging over the back of her chair, then pulled out her cellphone. A moment's pause, then she said "Oh..."

"What's wrong?" Taylor leaned forward at the warning note in her voice; at the next table, Sam stopped talking to Harold, John, and Joss and focused on the kids.

Lia was staring at the phone screen, reading the text. "Aunt Savi had a bad fall down the stairs. Uncle Avi called an ambulance to take her to the hospital. He says needs me home as soon as possible." She looked up at Taylor, then at Joss sitting at the next table. "I'm sorry to bother you—Uncle Avi hardly ever talks to me, and he never texts me unless it's an emergency, so I'm going to have to go—"

"Not a problem," Sam was already in motion, wiping her mouth with a napkin, then putting that down next to her empty plate. "I'm done, I can run you home. No, don't get up," she said to Joss in the same breath. "You still have dinner in front of you. Finish eating. I can take Lia home." A long pause, as the two women locked eyes and something unspoken passed between them. John and Harold looked mystified, but after a moment, Joss said quietly, "Thanks, Sam."

"No problem." And Sam was in motion, grabbing her purse. "Come on Lia. Let's get you home."

* * *

"I don't mean to be a bother," Lia ventured timidly as Sam pulled out of the restaurant's parking lot.

"You aren't. Don't worry. This is actually why I dragged Harold out there tonight—I knew from Joss that you guys were having dinner there and I wanted to meet you."

"Me?" Lia asked incredulously. "Why me?"

"Taylor told John about the end of the Valentine's dance. Said that a couple of the other kids weren't good sports about sharing the spotlight with you and Taylor. Taylor's a little worried that their bullying could turn into outright harassment. John and Joss seem to think that your Aunt and Uncle being strict would keep you away from potential trouble for the last few weeks of school, but I still wanted to meet you, give you some tips to prevent trouble."

"I go straight home after school. Aunt Savi even usually picks me up, she doesn't really trust me walking home alone or with friends. I don't see how I could possibly get in trouble."

"But that's outside of school. What about in school?" Sam was relentless. "Have you ever gotten in trouble at school?" She knew the girl had, but she wanted Lia to be truthful.

"Um. Yeah." Lia flushed. "Steve Wood used to bully me into giving him my lunch money until Taylor made him stop. Even though he got in trouble for fighting." She shook her head. "I never wanted him to get in trouble for fighting. Not for me."

"Men do whatever they want. Even though we sometimes have better ideas." Sam shook her head. "However, I really can't blame him for this one. He did the right thing."

"He walks me between classes now. And he waits for me outside my last class and he walks me to my locker, though he's careful not to let Aunt Savi see him when she comes to pick me up. If Taylor's worried about Steve and Kylie trying to get back at us for tying them for Valentines Dance sweethearts, then he's really trying not to give him an opportunity. He's really considerate. He's not like the other boys at school." She sighed. "It's so stupid. Five years from now no one's going to care that Taylor and I tied Kylie and Steve for Valentine's dance Sweethearts. Why does it matter?"

"Because they want attention and they resent whoever gets in the way of that, even temporarily. They're bullies and users." Sam said bluntly. "One day they're going to run into someone who won't tolerate that nonsense and they'll get a wakeup call. Until then, be careful."

"There's only a couple months left of school. And even though I hate summer vacation because it means I'm stuck in the house all the time except grocery shopping with Aunt Savi, at least this year it means the end of Steve and Kylie. Both of them graduate this year so they won't be in school next year. I'll be so relieved."

"Sounds like it." Sam pulled to a stop. "All right, here we are at your house. I think that's your uncle there."

"Yes, that's Uncle Avi. Thank you so much, Ms..." she paused.

"Sam. Just Sam. No Ms. Makes me feel old." Sam grumped.

"Okay. Sam." Lia grinned at Sam before climbing out of the car and hurrying up the front walk. Sam waited until she was inside the house, ignoring Uncle Avi's glare, before she pulled away.


	21. Chapter 21: Mumbai Bombing

**Chapter 21: The Mumbai Bombing**

_Author's Note: On July 11, 2006, seven pressure cooker bombs went off in series over 11 minutes at stations along the Suburban Railway that runs through Mumbai during the after-work rush hour. 209 people were killed, over 700 were injured. Although the entire Muslim community in India was initially suspected, it was later revealed in the investigation that the Indian Mujahideen, an Islamist fundamentalist group allegedly backed by Pakistani terrorists, were responsible. Please note here; while all Islamists practice a form of Islam (albeit a twisted misinterpretation thereof) not all Muslims are Islamists. The word 'Islamist' is a term that denotes radicals/fundamentalists and who are completely separate from the largely peaceful Muslim community._

_This seemed to me to be the sort of incident that the Machine would have paid attention to and thus given the CIA's intelligence support division the numbers of 'relevant' persons. It wasn't too much of a stretch to put John and Kara in Mumbai during the attack, and for Mahesh Rao to be a relevant number._

July 11, 2006

She was going to make her move very, very soon.

He was sure of it, as he sat at the little table in their hotel room stripping and cleaning his favorite Sig. Across the table from him, Kara was doing the same, albeit to her Smith and Wesson. But she'd been rather quiet the last few days, concentrating on her own thoughts, and she must have assumed that he was doing the same, because she never asked him what he was doing.

John hadn't volunteered the information either. What was he going to say? Telling her the truth was out of the question—'I'm gathering resources to give to Rao's family to help them get their daughter away from you'—Kara would shoot him on the spot. And then kill the girl. John was determined to prevent that at all costs. He might have to live with Rao's death on his conscience, but he would not live with the death of a little girl.

"Come on," Kara said as she slipped a fully-loaded clip into her gun. "Come with me. I've been watching Rao and I think there's something you should see."

It was suppertime in India—so John had to pay very close attention to Kara, to avoid losing her in the crowd as they threaded their way through the maze of streets and alleyways until they got to the main market square where John had rescued Rao's niece barely two weeks before.

And as it was suppertime, there was Rao sauntering casually through the marketplace. Over the last couple of weeks John had watched the man for any sign of the terrorist that Kara had said he was, but still couldn't see it—most of the time, his purchases at the market consisted of children's toys and books (his niece was apparently an inveterate reader and, as John had overheard Rao proudly tell the bookseller one day, she was reading far above her grade level at school.)

He adored the little girl. It was evident to John—and even to Kara, normally inured and indifferent to such things as emotional attachments. She loved her father and mother, but Rao was her favorite. With both of her parents busy and with little time to spare for an active, inquisitive little girl, John deemed it fortunate that they had the mother's brother living in the house and capable (and willing) to help with the rearing of a child. He picked her up from school in the afternoon, took her home, and was always ready to babysit, help her with homework, take her out to eat dinner on nights when her mother's work at the clinic or her father's work at the embassy (or a combination of both) made it impossible for the family to have dinner together. When she did well in school, it was her uncle who saw the test papers first, and who would then take her out for a special treat—ice cream, or a new toy, or a new book—to reward her.

Rao was sitting at his usual meal spot; a market stall with a couple of small tables, folding chairs, and an umbrella to ward off the hot summer sun. Eating his usual supper when he ate out, a fried rice curry. Nothing different, nothing new. John turned to Kara. "Am I missing something here? What am I supposed to be looking at?"

"Hush and just watch," Kara said, clearly annoyed. So he 'hushed' and watched.

And a couple minutes later, he saw what she'd brought him here to see. A darker-skinned Middle Eastern man approached Rao's table and seated himself at the empty opposite chair, without asking or being invited. Rao made no movement, no comment.

And his face was familiar—John didn't need Kara's summary to know who the man was. "Mufti Bashir, of the fundamentalist Indian Mujahideen. They are operating in India under the auspices of the Lashkar-e-Taiba in Pakistan. They're responsible for inciting dissent and religious factional and sectarian fighting in the region, and the intelligence community believes they are plotting something, an attack on Indian soil, maybe soon. The fact that he's made contact with Mahesh Rao here indicates to Control that they were justified in their suspicions, that Mahesh Rao is going to betray the Italians, and through him gain the names of all people here in India working as Western informants. Now do you understand why we were sent here to kill the man?"

John frowned. "I can see your point," he said slowly, but as he watched Rao further, something seemed...off. Rao wasn't doing a lot of talking, instead focusing on the food in front of him. He rarely ever looked up, never made eye contact with the other man, and in fact seemed to be doing his best to look at everything and everyone but Bashir. He was also eating faster—so fast John wondered if he would choke on the food.

If John had to hazard a guess, this wasn't a man looking to make connections with a terrorist organization. This wasn't a man planning on betraying the employers of his brother-in-law and the father of his adored, spoiled, petted niece. This was a man who was listening out of politeness but no real interest, someone who was looking around for a way out of the conversation, a reason to leave. All of a sudden he looked down at his wrist, checked his watch, then said loudly, "Excuse me, I have to pick up my niece from school'...and dropped the remains of his lunch into the closest trashcan and almost ran from the man. John took a quick glance at his own watch. School had let out hours ago; the little girl should be safe at home with her parents at the moment.

"I'll follow him, see where he goes," he said to Kara swiftly, and without waiting for her assent, he followed Mahesh Rao (at a discreet distance) out of the market square. Rao was accustomed to leaving the car at the embassy and taking the Mumbai Suburban Railway to this market square for lunches and suppers, if he was working late and had to drive the Italian diplomat somewhere on a late meeting, then taking the same train line back. Kara complained about it constantly—there was a market square not that far from the row of foreign embassies, one that offered a wider variety of foods that catered to Western tastes, why couldn't Rao eat there instead of coming out here to the Khar Road market?

John had privately figured it out already—the market square closest to the embassy sold food, but didn't offer children's toys—or books, except business literature and periodicals. Mahesh took a midday stroll around the Khar market to see what would interest his niece on the way home; then when he did walk his niece home, he could point out things to show her, and maybe have her pick out a toy or two. It was exactly the thing John would have done with his own child, if he'd been lucky enough to have one. But that was just a distant dream, now...

He was following behind Rao at a discreet distance, keeping a sharp eye out for anything out of the ordinary, so it was with some surprise—and some apprehension—that he saw Mufti Bashir out the corner of his eye, fumbling with what looked like a backpack on the crowded train platform. He was trying to keep Rao in sight, and so almost—almost—missed the flash of something silvery inside the backpack.

But that flash was enough to catch his attention, and he turned his head fully to see—and adrenaline kicked in instantly. There was something in that backpack, something heavy, and there were wires attached to it.

The part of him that was 'Reese' sprang to the forefront of his consciousness, no hesitation. Rao was dismissed as unimportant. The bomb in that backpack was Reese's first and only priority at the moment. He had to warn these people, get them out of the train station; then alert the authorities and see if he could defuse it somehow...

"Bomb! Get out of the station!" he tried to yell, but the crush of people didn't let his voice carry far. He looked despairingly at the man, Mufti Bashir, now running away from the backpack he'd just dropped at the edge of the train platform, but there was nothing Reese could do but watch as the man disappeared.

And then the world vanished in a blinding flash of light.

The deafening roar hit a millisecond later, and then the world went dark as the concussive force of the blast rocked the station platform. Reese was thrown off his feet, the lights on the station platform went dark, and then another roar penetrated the high-pitched ringing in his ears—the sound of people screaming, feet trampling the floor in the darkness.

He struggled to sit up, dizzy and disoriented, but his equilibrium had gone along with his hearing and the world seemed to be listing to one side. He tried to get his feet under him, failed, tried again.

And then an arm slid under his own, and with his unknown helper's assistance, he managed to stand. And when he came face to face with his helper... "Mahesh Rao?"

"You've been watching me and my niece for a couple of weeks. I don't know why, but you haven't hurt us even though you could have. You saved Emmy from the crazy driver. And just now, I saw Bashir setting the bomb, and you ran toward it, tried to warn people. So. You're not a murderer." The words were barely distinguishable through the ringing in Reese's ears, but he got the gist of Rao's words, with the red emergency lighting now kicking in along the darkened platform.

And then another explosion rocked the floor under their feet, and Reese realized what was happening. Bombs had been planted all along the train route, in a series, each set to go off seconds or minutes after the next one. It was a concerted terror attack, engineered by Mufti Bashir and/or his organization, and if Rao was here beside John, there was a greater than average chance that he'd seen Bashir plant the bomb.

"You have to get out. Get your niece and your family and get back to the embassy. Don't go home. You're not safe there." John got the words out as quickly as he could, but barely seconds later, there was a different sound, a loud, sharp gunshot, and suddenly Rao sagged against him, face contorting.

Reese threw his arms out almost instinctively, catching the Indian man as he fell, then looked dumbfounded at the spreading red stain in the middle of Rao's back. And then looked up—to see Mufti Bashir standing there, holding a Sig that had just been used to assassinate Mahesh Rao. The same model as John's own, though John knew it wasn't his—he could still feel his own gun securely tucked in the back waistband holster on his slacks.

The gun came up, pointed at him, but John reacted quicker; his gun was out a split second later, apparently faster than Bashir had given him credit for. _He must think I'm actually a foreign tourist_, John thought grimly with one part of his mind as the other part, the part of his mind that was so familiar with guns that they had become a part of him, merely an extension of his own arm, his own will, brought his own Sig up to sight on Bashir. But people were rushing past and between them, not seeing the two men with guns drawn and pointed at each other; when the press of people finally eased, Bashir was gone.

Reese looked down at Rao, and his chest tightened. There was too much blood soaking the back of Rao's shirt. Rao was gasping, choking on his own blood—the bullet must have hit an artery near his trachea, and he was choking to clear his airway. "Tell...my family..."

"You're going to be fine, you'll tell them yourself," but even as he said it, Reese knew it was hopeless. Rao was going to die here. There was no way emergency services was going to get to him in time.

"My...niece. Emmy. Tell her...I love her very much. I'll miss her...here." He fumbled with his hand, and John saw a plain silver ring with a plain black onyx set in the band. "She bought this for me—saved her allowance to get it—give this back to her. Please." He pressed the little metal circle into John's hand, and that was all. His head lolled, with that peculiar limpness that John knew from long experience meant that Death had taken another soul. After a long moment, John carefully closed the man's eyes, unable to bear the blank empty stare. At least the silent accusation in them wasn't directed at him—it wasn't John's fault that Rao was dead, and neither would he have the man's death on his conscience because Kara had killed him. But it was still with a pang of regret as he laid the man down on the train platform carefully, gently; then rose, slipping the silver men's ring into the depths of his jacket pocket and mingled with the last of the stampeding crowd out of the train station, careful not to make eye contact or get too close to the municipal law enforcement now pushing through the crowd, heading into the station to try and get to the wounded. He didn't want them to know that the front of his dark jacket was soaked with blood.

His ears were still ringing, and he was still slightly in shock as he exited the station into the rain of the outside market, and when a sudden movement drew his attention and Kara suddenly joined him, he barely processed her hand reaching for his gun, taking the Sig from his nerveless grasp and hiding it, then taking his arm in hers and hugging it close—more to support his faltering steps than anything else. The streets were clogged with people making their way away from the blast, and emergency personnel were focused on going toward the blast, so Reese and Kara garnered only a brief, cursory look by one law enforcement officer—most likely the man simply making sure that no walking wounded needed attention—and then the officer continued on his way.

Kara somehow got him up to their hotel room, where she promptly dropped him on the bed, then examined the bloodstains on her blouse. "Ruined a perfectly good blouse. You owe me another shirt."

John stared at her in disbelief. Rao had just died, and that was all she could say? "What?" he asked.

"Oh, I forgot, the blast must have temporarily damaged your hearing. I said," she repeated, louder, "You owe me another shirt. I assume from the blood on your jacket, and the gun in your hand, that you took out Rao?" without waiting for his answer, she checked the Sig she'd taken from him. "Yep. One round missing. I didn't think you had it in you." She smiled at him—one of the few times he could ever remember seeing her smile, and the first time she'd smiled at him. "Congratulations. I knew Reese was in there somewhere. We just had to hide John."

And again the pang. _No one wants John. They all want Reese._ John was superfluous, an afterthought, a part of him in a junkyard lying forgotten. That was what Kara demanded of him. That was what his career demanded of him.

That was what life demanded of him. No John. Just Reese.

He buried it deep, refusing to think about how much that hurt. If this was what his partner, his career, his life, his universe wanted, then so be it. He would become what he needed to be; as Kara had said, what he wanted, what he desired, wasn't relevant. A permanent home, a normal job...a wife, and a child...those weren't meant for him. Not in this life. He would just have to accept that.

"So now that you've gotten rid of Rao, next you have to get rid of the girl. You might have beaten me to killing Rao, but you still have to get the girl. She was your assignment. Not today—I don't expect you're going to get to her today, security is going to be tight everywhere and any attempt to get close to her will be sheer suicide—but it'll be several days before the authorities open the transportation system, and maybe even a week before they open the airport, so you have a couple of days to figure out how you're going to get the girl. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to change my shirt. Then you should get changed too. Don't leave bloodstains on the hotel furniture." With that, Kara disappeared into the hotel bathroom.

Reese stood, absently started to strip off the jacket and, underneath, the bloodstained shirt. As he did so, something small and hard fell out of the pocket of the jacket, and he caught it before it rolled under a nearby chair.

Rao's onyx ring.

John stared at it for a long moment. He shouldn't have taken it. There was no way he'd ever be able to give it to Rao's niece. But something—some impulse—made him curl his fist around it, made him cross the hotel room quickly and pull his suitcase out from under the bed, and deposit it into the small pouch that held some of his most valued possessions—his Purple Heart, his other decorations and bars. He traveled with them, kept them with him. He never knew where he would end up next, never knew where Control would send them next, and he kept these close because he didn't want to lose them. They went wherever he did. And now so would Rao's ring. Maybe someday, if he was very, very lucky, maybe someday he'd be able to fulfill the dying man's last wish and get this back to his niece? It seemed unlikely, but John couldn't bring himself to simply throw it away.

And then he stuffed his jacket, and the ruined, bloodstained shirt, into a plastic bag to throw out in the hotel's garbage later, and then sat down to figure out what to do about the little girl.


	22. Chapter 22: Game

**Chapter 22: Game**

"And he scores!" Taylor's triumphant shout rang out across the basketball court on the outdoor playground as his feet made contact with the asphalt. "That's four to two, Mom!"

"As if we could miss the score," Sam said dryly from where she stood next to Joss, hands on her hips, catching her breath.

In the center of the court, John and Taylor high-fived each other, then John signaled for a time-out and walked over to the bench to one side of the court, where their towels and water bottles waited. Taylor joined him moments later, both of them drinking thirstily from their bottles, as Joss and Sam drifted over rather more leisurely.

"You're not even really trying, Mom!" Taylor complained. "I know you can play but so far Sam's scored both baskets for your team!"

"Your Mom's just kind of a little distracted," Sam said airily, ignoring the dirty looks Joss and John both shot in her direction. The she looked at John and shrugged. "Hey, if you want us to pay more attention to the game, you shouldn't be running around in front of Joss with no shirt on." Joss blushed a bright pink.

John blushed a little too—confirming for Sam that part of the reason he'd taken his shirt off was to parade his toned physique in front of Joss, taking a purely male satisfaction in looking good for the woman he loved. And Joss had clearly been appreciating the male form on display for her. The whole scene also confirmed for Sam that the two of them had resumed their physical relationship—something that relieved her to no end. "Don't worry, I'm not going to complain. John's easier to deal with when he gets laid once in a while."

"Sam!" John and Joss both chorused this time, with a nod of their heads toward Taylor.

Sam rolled her eyes. "Don't be such prudes. Taylor's a big boy. He's gonna hear it eventually—if he hasn't already. High school's different now than when we were there."

It was Taylor's turn to blush, but he said, "Christine at school had her baby last week. So yeah, I know all about..." he waved a hand helplessly.

"The birds and bees," Sam said crisply.

John frowned. "Whoever the baby's father is had better be stepping up to help her take care if the baby. Single parenthood isn't easy—much harder when you're still in school."

"Christine never said who the baby's father was. The kids at school think she doesn't know. She used to be part of Kylie's crowd, followed her around, went to a couple of college parties and that's where she got pregnant. If she knows who the father is, she's not telling anyone."

"If you make me a grandmother before you graduate college, Taylor, I'll kill you myself," Joss declared with some asperity.

"Oh my God. We are not having this conversation." Taylor's face was bright red with embarrassment.

"It's okay. Mom knows," John said, and with part of his face turned away from Taylor, the boy didn't see the wink John gave Joss._ I'll handle this. It's a man thing, _he mouthed. Joss just nodded, a slight incline of her head. _Okay, up to you._ Then she said, "Come on, John, you and me, one-on-one. Sam can take a timeout with Taylor." It was a rather transparent attempt at getting John alone, presumably so they could hammer out what John was going to tell Taylor.

* * *

"Not paying attention to the game, Joss," John teased lightly as they headed out to the middle of the court.

"Yeah, well, it's kind of hard to when you're running around showing off in front of me."

"I'm not showing off. We're having a friendly game of guys-against-girls basketball," he said innocently as he scooped up the basketball from the center of the court and bounced it a couple of times.

"You forget I'm a military interrogator. I can read your body language. Yes, you are showing off," she teased, dropping to a semi-crouch and watching him.

He smiled at her. "Can't get anything past you, can I."

"Nope. Not a thing. You, and Harold, and Taylor. You all are clear as glass." She grinned. "So are you volunteering to have a birds-and-bees talk with Taylor?"

"I don't think it's really necessary. He loves you and doesn't want to disappoint you, and that's a better control on his behavior than anything I could tell him. But there are some things that he really should learn from a man, Joss, and his father's definitely not the best person to ask about how to behave in a relationship."

"You gotta give him the lowdown on Man Law," Joss joked.

"Yes." John caught the ball, stood and faced her, his voice low and serious. "Joss, I don't want him to think that his father's behavior is the way relationships are supposed to go. I don't know what Paul's parents' relationship was like, but based on his own behavior, I think it must not have been that happy. Violence is a cycle that repeats itself, and domestic violence in particular. You're a cop. You've seen the worst and ugliest sides of a relationship. And your own relationship with Paul was a lesson itself on how things can go wrong. I don't want Taylor to be like that with his girlfriends—if they're like Lia, shy and quiet and sheltered, chances are pretty good that if he uses his father as a model for how relationships are supposed to go, he's going to end up in jail for spousal abuse. His father definitely should have gone to jail a few times." He bounced the ball on the court asphalt with a little more force than was necessary.

"Maybe I should. I did think about it a couple of times, but I kept telling myself that it wasn't his fault, it was mine, I'd done something to set him off, something to deserve it. Liv Benson says it's something she's heard from countless women countless times."

"But the important thing is that you're not with him anymore and he can't hurt you now. You're safe, and he's never going to touch you again."

She looked at him, a soft smile on her lips. "That Reese talking there?"

"All of me. Joss, I will do whatever I have to do to protect you. Nothing is more important. I've never been so in love with anyone before, and I've never before known anyone who considered me, and my life, worth so much to them. I like being loved. I love you. So I'm going to do everything I can to make sure nothing happens to you." He looked at her, and there was a sudden vulnerability in his blue eyes. "As much as losing Jessica made me lose myself, losing you would be...so much worse." He swallowed hard as the mental image of Joss, tied to the crossbeam on Panther Mountain, half-dead from Walker's brutality, swam into his consciousness. "I thought about saying goodbye after I lost Jessica and got burned by the CIA. Never brought myself to do it. But with you gone, Joss, I could do it easily. There'd be no reason for me to stay anymore."

"I'm not going anywhere, John. I'm always going to be right here." The game was forgotten, the thought that Sam and Taylor might be watching faded into insignificance. There was only the two of them in the world at this moment.

"Get a room!" came a shout across the court, and they both turned, to see Sam—and Taylor—staring at them both with keen interest. Joss laughed a little as the tension broke, then retreated to her side of the court. "Okay. Let's show Sam and Taylor how we play in Iraq."

"You got it." John started dribbling, watching Joss watch him. Damn, but she was so beautiful.

* * *

The whole exchange amused Sam, and she smiled to herself. John and Joss were so in love it would have been evident even if she were blind, deaf, and dumb—which she was not. If only things were different, and they could have their fairy-tale ending—Sam had never met two people who deserved a happily-ever-after ending more.

And Taylor. She smiled as she dropped onto the bench beside Taylor. Whether John wanted to admit it or not, he was clearly more than just a 'cool big brother', or even a mentor. There was definitely a father-son relationship between John and Taylor. Taylor was a good kid, and despite John's somewhat prickly nature, there were few other men Sam could think of that would be better role model for the boy. And that reminded her of another child... "So, Taylor, how's Lia?" she asked as she reached for her own towel and water.

He sighed. "She's doing okay. Her Aunt Savi broke her ankle when she fell down the stairs, so she can't drive to pick up Lia from school until it's healed. Mom's been giving Lia a ride home from school when she picks me up, or John does when he picks me up, and then those days when I have practice after school she waits at the library or walks home."

"She walks home?"

Taylor nodded. "Yeah, there's a group of girls who live in the same apartment complex as Lia, so she walks home with them. Her Aunt and Uncle don't seem to have a real problem as long as it's all girls. Trinity—she's one of the girls at school, even though she's part of Kylie's crowd, she was really nice to us the evening of the dance, voted for us for Valentines Sweethearts, and she seems to have made friends with Lia. I'm glad because Lia's too lonely. She doesn't have girl friends. Lia asked me if Mom would mind terribly if she went with Trinity to shop for prom dresses, and I asked Mom and Mom said she didn't mind—she said Lia needs girl friends and she was happy Lia had someone to go with."

It sounded like the arrangements were working out, but Sam still felt a sense of impending doom, and she couldn't even explain why. "If she needs a ride and your Mom or John aren't available, have her call me."

Taylor looked at her oddly, and she felt surprise at the flash of maturity in the boy's eyes. "Hanging out with me and Mom was good for John. Got him to loosen up some." Mischievous smile. "So maybe hanging out with Lia would be good for you too."

She swatted at him with her towel. "Smart-ass." But she said it affectionately. He really was a good kid.

* * *

But it was that sense of impending doom that drove her to the school the next day at dismissal time. Taylor's basketball team was practicing for the high school championships and he was staying after school almost every day now; so Lia, no longer able to depend on John or Joss—through Taylor—for a ride home, had taken to walking with others.

Taylor apparently met Lia at her locker and walked her out of the building; but as soon as they got outside, he headed off to the basketball courts with the rest of his team. Lia waved goodbye to him, then turned to a knot of four girls heading down the sidewalk toward the end of the parking lot. Sam studied them as they started walking; Lia was greeted with some enthusiasm, though no great warmth. They weren't really friends, then; she just happened to go to the same school and be walking with them.

But they seemed like any other group of girls going down the sidewalk—chattering, one of them even taking out a paper from a binder and showing it to Lia, who said something, smiled, and handed it back. Then the inevitable cell phones came out, the girls scrolling through their social media pages, showing off new posts, new photos. And at this time of year, the conversation inevitably turned to prom dresses. Sam's car windows were tinted dark, and Lia didn't even notice that the car was occupied as they walked past Sam's car. "Oooh, look, that's the dress Daja wants to get. Isn't that pretty?" they stopped walking, clustered closer together as the girl who'd spoken passed her cellphone around.

"It's pretty, but I like the one I picked better." Lia said as the cellphone ended up in her hands and she glanced at it before passing it back to its owner.

"Which dress are you looking at?" one of the girls asked, and Lia took out her phone and passed it around.

"You know, I actually like that. It's not as modern-looking as Kylie's, but it's more tasteful. Did Taylor's Mom help you pick it out? Or your Aunt?"

"Aunt Savi wouldn't help. She doesn't approve," Lia rolled her eyes. "I can't wait till I'm eighteen and I can do what I want to. Taylor's mom bought some magazines with dresses in them for me when we went shopping for a dress for the Valentine's dance, and I've been looking through those. And I did some research on the internet and picked several, and then I emailed my Mom and Dad in India to ask them what they thought. This was the one we all liked. Taylor's mom likes it too." She sighed. "I wish my Dad and Mom were here. Or that I lived with someone cool like Taylor's Mom. It's not that I don't like Aunt Savi, but I wish she were a little more...modern."

"And when are you going to get the dress?"

"Dad's sending me a prepaid credit card in the mail with money on it to buy a dress. I guess I'll go when it comes in. Trinity Cross offered to take me shopping and Taylor said his mom wouldn't mind if I went with Trinity instead of her, so I guess it'll be soon. Dad said the card should be here any day now."

"You really should get your ears pierced for earrings. I can't believe you still don't have it done."

"I want to. When Taylor's Mom took me shopping for the Valentine's dress, I saw some really pretty earrings and I really want to get my ears pierced. I asked Aunt Savi a couple weeks ago and she said she'd think about it, then she fell down the stairs and broke her ankle and I haven't had a chance to ask her again. The store at the mall that does piercings told Taylor's Mom that I needed parental permission for them to do it, so I have to take Aunt Savi with me. I just don't think it'll happen before prom." She sighed. "And I really, really wanted to look pretty for Taylor, too."

Sam shook her head, smiling to herself as the group of girls walked on past her car and vanished around the corner. _So she's not immune to girlish vanity. And she likes Taylor, or she wouldn't be so keen to impress him. Gotta ask Joss what dress it was that Lia wanted._ Sam reached for her phone, sitting in its dash mount, and froze as she saw two people standing on the steps in front of the school.

Steve Wood and Kylie Whistler. And they were staring at Lia walking with the group of girls, and there was no mistaking the ugly look in Kylie's eyes.

* * *

"Bitch," Kylie snarled as she watched Lia walking with Summer and her friends.

"Come on, Kylie. Forget her. She's not worth your attention." Steve tried to distract her.

But Kylie couldn't let it go. "She stole the votes for Valentines sweethearts that should have been mine. I'm not letting the little thief get away with it."

"It's not that big a deal. Is it?" Steve ventured.

"Yes, it is," Kylie refused to be placated. "No one crosses me. Not in this school while I'm in it. Have to teach the Untouchable a lesson." She chewed on her lower lip. "But how?"

"We could do the meat-in-her-locker thing again," Steve suggested.

Kylie dismissed it. "We already did that. Has to be something new. Something really dramatic this time so she'll understand next time that she can't cross me and get away with it." She thought for another moment. "Hey. We're going to the Alpha Phi frat house this Friday afternoon for a frat party, right? The usual after-exams party?"

"Um...yeah," Steve said slowly. "Why? You want to invite her?"

"No, dummy," Kylie sighed. "Remember we invited Christine to the frat house last August? Remember we tricked her into drinking that new stuff your friend Ricky got and it screwed her up? And then everybody got a chance to take a turn with her? And then when she woke up she couldn't remember anything?"

"Yeah. That was fun." Steve's eyes lit up. "You wanna do that to that Arab chick?"

"Yeah. I could even turn her into one of my girls, send her out on 'dates'. Then she'll be making money for me!" Kylie's face lit up with glee. "Yes, that's perfect."

"How are you gonna get her there? She doesn't hang out after school."

Kylie rolled her eyes. "I'll tell Trinity to take her shopping on Friday and swing by the frat house after they're done. We can trick her inside and then I'm sure I can get her to drink something with Ricky's Ten Scope in it. She's so naive she's probably never been told not to drink anything someone hands you. And especially at a frat party. Once she has that in her system we can do whatever we want and she'll never remember it later. She'll be so embarrassed she'll turn down Taylor's invitation to prom. And then I can threaten to expose her for a slut if she doesn't agree to be one of my girls. There are some people who would pay well to go on a date with a Middle Eastern girl." Kylie bounced. "Come on, let's go find Trinity."

* * *

Sam shook her head as she watched Kylie and Steve's retreating back. She wasn't close enough to hear what they'd said, but it sure looked like the blond cheerleader had been planning something nasty—she'd looked entirely too cheerful as she walked away. Sam didn't know if it had anything to do with Lia, but it still didn't bode well for whoever was on the receiving end of Kylie Whistler's ire.

_I'll let Taylor know, Sam thought as she started her car. Lia's safe enough walking with those girls home—they aren't the dangerous type like Steve and Kylie—but Taylor ought to know that Kylie and Steve are up to something._


	23. Chapter 23: Paranoia

**Chapter 23: Paranoia**

"Taylor, you don't have to be glued to my side every minute we're not in class," Lia sighed as she turned away from locking her locker—to find Taylor standing a couple inches behind her.

"Yes, I do." Taylor insisted stubbornly.

"No, you don't. Nothing's going to happen. We're barely a month away from the end of school. Kylie and Steve are totally ignoring me. I'm actually making a couple of friends now—and I'm walking home with Summer and her friends. Nothing's going to happen to me."

"I still wanna make sure you're okay," Taylor fell into step beside her as she closed her locker and headed for their History class.

He didn't want to tell her that Sam had told him that she'd watched Lia leave school on Monday and saw Kylie and Steve glaring after her as she walked home with Summer Winters. "Shouldn't you tell this to John?" he'd felt a mixture of puzzlement that Ms. Shaw—_Sam_, he corrected himself silently, she'd told him to just call her 'Sam'—would be telling him this, but there'd also been a hint of pride that she'd considered him adult enough to come to him with problems.

And Sam had dismissed John. "He's convinced she can't get into trouble. He's not really experienced with the kinds of trouble a girl can get into these days—the school environment you're growing up in isn't what it was like when he was in school. And you're at school every day—you're in the best position to protect her. You know what the bullies in school are like and your simple presence beside her could be deterrent to anyone doing something to upset her—I think you know that already." He'd nodded; he did indeed know. "So it makes much more sense to come to you and let you know Steve and Kylie need to be watched—or Lia does—than for me to go to John—who has his work with Harold."Taylor thought about that, then nodded again—he could see Sam's logic.

"But you have to stick with her. Even if she says that she doesn't need you, you have to stick with her because you never know when she will. Your Mom is like that—she kept stubbornly insisting to John that she didn't need him, she was fine by herself, that she and you didn't need him, and then all that stuff happened last year and you all found out you needed each other." Taylor nodded at that too; he knew Mom could be stubborn. Like the night that Mom had come home with all the glass in her back; he'd panicked and called John, and then both he and John had ignored Mom's protests while they got her cleaned up. He'd remember that night forever—and looking back now, it was the moment when he'd first realized just how much John cared about Mom. And he'd wondered, again, if Mom and John would get married. Would he want to call John 'Dad?'

The answer, somewhat to his surprise, was 'yes'.

He fell into step beside Lia now as she walked down the hallway toward the front doors, ignoring her eyeroll and sigh. Mom did that too—and John ignored her. And it had turned out to be a good thing on several occasions. Come to think of it, Mom must have realized it, because although she would complain about John being overprotective, she hadn't put a stop to it—and Taylor knew that if she'd really wanted to, she could have.

They got outside the school, and Taylor scanned the curb, he never knew who was going to show up at school to pick him up, lately; if he was to walk home, Mom usually texted him during lunch and let him know. He hadn't gotten any texts from her thus far today, so that meant someone was going to be picking him (and by extension, Lia) up. He just didn't know if it would be John, in the old police interceptor; Mom, in her black sedan, or, lately, the lineup of possible rides included Sam Shaw, who seemed to have taken an interest in Lia. Taylor didn't know why, didn't really care; he was just glad that someone was looking out for her and Sam was apparently keeping an eye on her. Taylor worried about Lia.

And at the curb was the old purple car John drove. It was very distinctive, standing out against the crowd of newer-model economy sedans and SUVs that other people drove, but it also made John easy to spot. And because John was driving it today, that meant there wouldn't be a driving lesson this afternoon. Taylor was initially disappointed, but soon brightened—even if there was no driving lesson, John surprised him sometimes with something cool. If Bear was in the back of the car, they'd be going to the dog park with the big dog—several times it had been to a dog agility course, where John had asked the instructor if he could run Bear through the course in between lessons for the dogs currently in training. Taylor thought that Bear had looked particularly happy as he ran the course, and John had even taught Taylor some of the Dutch words that commanded the dog.

More often, though, it was to a basketball court in one of New York's many parks—after sitting most of the day in class, it was sometimes hard for Taylor to sit and focus on homework. He'd noticed—and wondered if John had noticed—that he focused better on his homework after an hour or two of basketball with John after school; with a lot of his pent-up energy used, he was better able to sit and focus on studying, and homework went easier on those nights.

And one afternoon, when Mom was working the four to twelve (midnight) shift, it had been to a martial arts tournament, to which John had gotten tickets. John had explained the various types of martial arts disciplines on display, and named the moves for Taylor—leg sweep, side kick...Taylor had watched, spellbound and awed, as people—some of them kids half his age—had done amazing things with weapons of all kinds, and although they'd missed dinner and he'd had to rush to get his homework done before bedtime, he'd thoroughly appreciated the outing.

But as he and Lia approached the car now, he saw John in track pants and a casual t-shirt, which meant only one thing—they were going to the gym. Although he loved the dog park, the basketball sessions with John, and the occasional ticketed events, their sessions at the gym were his favorite. John was, true to his word, teaching Taylor self-defense moves; if Mom was off, Mom would be there too, and John and Mom would demonstrate; and if Sam Shaw was in, Taylor would watch Mom and Sam fight while John played _sensei_ and referee. He'd hardly had a chance to play with the game system at the gym lately, between the lessons, watching Mom and Sam and John, and fighting—mostly with John, although John had Sam fight him several times so he could experience a female opponent. John had, however, never had Taylor and Joss fight each other. Taylor was glad—that would have been too weird, for him.

"So how was school?" John asked as Lia got into the rear passenger seat of the car, and Taylor got in behind John. Although it seemed like a rhetorical question, Taylor knew John well enough by now to know that the older man really did listen to the answers—he really was interested in Taylor's school. Not like his own Dad, who asked Taylor that question without wanting an answer—or listening when Taylor talked.

"Okay," Taylor started.

"Taylor's paranoid," Lia burst out at the same time.

"'Paranoid' is a strong word," John said mildly.

"Every time I turn around he's there. Walking me between classes. Walking me from my locker to outside of school. On the days when I walk home he even waits until he sees Summer before he goes and does his business."

"I'm still worried about what Kylie and Steve might do," Taylor insisted.

Lia rolled her eyes. "It's May. Junior prom is only a couple weeks away, and then we have final exams and then we get out of school in June. If they were going to try anything, they'd have done it already because Kylie would want to watch me be miserable. Nothing's going to happen."

"I'm still keeping an eye on you." Taylor folded his arms. "I don't care if you think I'm paranoid. I'd rather be paranoid than have Steve touch you again. You maybe didn't think I'd noticed, but last year when he was grabbing your hair and shoving you all over the hallways at school I saw you limping. I know he kicked you or hurt you, and I'm absolutely not letting it happen again."

Lia turned pink and stared down at her hands, refusing to answer him. John caught Taylor's eye on the rearview mirror and nodded almost imperceptibly. They'd discuss it later once Lia was out of the car.

But John sensibly turned the conversation to another topic. "So what are you planning to do with your summer?"

Lia shrugged. "Sit around the house. Read. And then in the middle of summer there's a summer camp for kids sponsored by Aunt Savi's church and I'll volunteer to run the arts and crafts program for the younger kids. It'll get me out of the house, at least, and I like working with the little kids." She looked at Taylor. "Don't tell me you're going to sign up too to keep an eye on me."

"No, we got another offer today. You know late last year Taylor went upstate and visited some...friends... while he visited RIT? Well, those friends offered to have him come up for the summer."

"Mrs. Cam and Mr. Charlie?" Taylor was suddenly full of bouncing eagerness.

"Yes. Every summer they have the children of their friends come up for a couple of months—August Abernathy, Captain Benson's son; Marissa Faireborn, Warrant Officer Allie Hart-Burnett's daughter; Shannon Hauser, the daughter of another of their Army buddies—I think he's a current General—and Mrs. Cam's own son Brian Arlington, and two children of one of their old Army buddies in California—Evan and Erin O'Hara. Captain Benson called Mom today and asked if you'd like to get out of the city this summer and go upstate to Cam and Charlie's—it's cooler up there, there will be other kids your own age to play with, and Cam and Charlie take all the kids on overnight backpacking trips and teach basic survival skills."

"That sounds _sooo_ cool!" Lia grinned at him, her annoyance with his paranoia forgotten. "It gets really hot and sticky and yucky in the city during the summer, so being able to get away sounds neat." She sighed in envy.

Taylor thought about it. "That would be fun," he said finally. "I liked it up there at Mrs. Cam's, and I'd love to see more of the property—I didn't really have a chance to see much when we were up there, Mom being sick and all, and me going to visit RIT, and...the other stuff. Did Mom say it was okay?"

"Mom said it would be up to you."

"And you're hoping I'll say yes to going so you can spend more time with Mom." Taylor was quick to point that out.

"Taylor, it's not that I don't want you around. I like you, I really do. You're important to me, and I care about you. If you decide to stay for the summer, well, I'll have a basketball partner, and Bear will have a running partner, and we'll have our sessions in the gym. But you're old enough now to start deciding what you really want to do with your life, and in order to do that you need to experience a wide range of things, and being stuck here in the city with Mom and me isn't really going to help that."

"Not to mention which, I really don't wanna see you and Mom making out." Taylor grinned at John's sudden flush.

"Taylor!" Lia exclaimed, shocked.

"It's true. John and Mom are so in love it'd make a cat sick." He shrugged and sat back in his seat. "Maybe with me out of the way you guys will finally admit how much you love each other and maybe you and Mom will get married."

"Taylor..." John started.

"I know, I know, you said it was complicated, but adults always think stuff is more complicated than it really is. Look at how long it took Mom to come out and say she loved you." Taylor made a face. "If you two get married before I go off to RIT next fall, then I won't have to worry about leaving Mom alone."

"Your Mom's a big girl. She can take care of herself," John said.

"Yeah, but everyone needs help sometimes. Even Mom, even if she doesn't want to admit it. I don't worry as much now that she has you." He tapped the window. "Look, there's Lia's uncle Okay, Lia, see you in school tomorrow."

* * *

He was thinking about that, very hard, later, as he stood in the upstairs lounge over the gym's workout floor and watched John referee Sam and Mom's fight. Both women were of a height, and pretty evenly matched; Sam was younger, but Mom had not only John's teaching to draw from, but also her own military training and physical combat training from the police department, so she was giving as good as she got. He was watching raptly; both women were excellent, and what unfolded on the floor of the gym was a brilliantly-choreographed, potentially deadly dance—because neither Sam nor Mom was holding back.

The outer door at the far end of the gym opened, and Taylor watched Mr. Finch walk in. Although it looked like he was looking for John, he stopped short at the sight of the two women on the mat, and when John looked up briefly, Mr. Finch just gave a small wave of his hand. Taylor understood that to mean 'It's not urgent, it'll wait', and apparently John got that too because he returned his attention to the fight.

"Hi," Taylor said as Mr. Finch climbed the steps up to the gym loft; slightly stiffly. He hurried over to take the laptop bag from Mr. Finch's hand and help the older man up the last few steps.

"Thank you," Mr. Finch said as he dropped onto the lounge's couch. "I don't come here often and had no idea how steep those steps really were."

Taylor looked at the steps. They hadn't seemed that steep to him, but to someone with a physical handicap, he guessed they might be a bit of a challenge. Off to one side, Bear got out of his dog bed, stretched leisurely, then wandered over to Mr. Finch to be petted. "Mom and Sam have been at it for almost an hour now. John usually calls a time-out at an hour and a half and you can talk to him then."

"So I have a bit of a wait for him, then."Mr. Finch sighed. "Might as well try to figure this out." He opened his laptop bag, took it out, turned the computer on.

Taylor was trying not to be nosy, he really was, but it looked like Mr. Finch was working on some lines of computer code—and it was evident to Taylor that something was wrong with it. Numbers were in the wrong place..."Um. Excuse me." He cleared his throat nervously. "Um...is that...computer code?"

"It is indeed. A new experimental software program I'm writing." Mr. Finch turned to him, looking surprised. "You recognize it?"

"Um, yeah. I mean, I don't know what the program is for but I recognize computer code. But...something's wrong with this one. Is this what you mean when you said you were going to try to figure this out?"

"Yes, I had hoped that a change of scene, of venue, would be conducive to helping solve this dilemma," Mr. Finch said. "But maybe what this needed was a fresh pair of eyes...would you like to take a look at this? I would be immensely grateful for any help you could offer."

"Sure," Taylor sat on the couch next to Mr. Finch, and leaned forward. "Okay...so this line looks okay, but this..." he studied the next line of code intently. "Try using the ampersand...here," and he indicated a spot on the line.

Mr. Finch changed the character. That started a cascade of reactions in the entire chain of code after that point; at first slowly, then with increasing speed until finally it slowed again, and stopped. And when it finally stabilized and nothing else on the screen changed, Taylor and Finch both saw that a lot of the gaps in the code had been filled by characters.

"Genius, Mr. Carter," Finch said, his tone sounding distinctly pleased and satisfied. "That did solve many of the problems."

"You still have a few more there, though," Taylor pointed to the screen. "There, and there. But I think if you change the first one, then some of the fixes we just did are suddenly not going to work anymore and we'll have to go back and fix those too." He blinked. "Do you have a deadline on when this has to be done? Like, are you writing this code for someone else, a software company?"

"No deadline, though I would like to have this done as soon as possible," Mr. Finch admitted. "It's not really important, I'm simply frustrated that something this small has taken so much of my time already."

"Well, it's Thursday night, and I have a big History exam tomorrow so I have to study for that, but I should have Friday afternoon and Saturday and Sunday to look at it. If you'd like, I can take it home with me—I have a flash drive here..." Taylor dug into his backpack and pulled out a flash drive. "It doesn't look like it's anything really big or complicated, just time-consuming. And I have all weekend."

"I would be gratified if you could take a look at it for me. I can even offer monetary compensation for your assistance should you be able to satisfactorily iron out the issues in the code."

"Cool." Taylor looked up as he heard footsteps on the stairs to the loft. "Did you hear that, Mom? Mr. Finch will pay me to look at this code for him!"

"Having problems with computer code, Harold?" John said dryly.

"I informed Mr. Carter that I'd welcome a fresh pair of eyes. He has agreed. So, if it is all right with his mother, I'd like to enlist his aid as a software consultant."

Joss studied Finch narrowly for a moment. Taylor had a feeling she was weighing something, deciding something; something unspoken passed between Mr. Finch and Mom. Then Mom smiled. "All right. As long as you're not letting it interfere with your studies. You have an exam to study for tonight."

"I won't, Mom. It'll be fine."


	24. Chapter 24: Setup

**Chapter 24: Setup**

_Author's note: So, chronologically in the story, we're at May. And May 1st is John's birthday, according to show canon. So, if you're so inclined, wander on over to the M-rated section and take a look at 'Birthday', where Joss gives John a birthday present he'll never forget...and then come back here and pick up the thread of the story. This update's going to be pretty intense-be warned!_

"Hey!" Taylor greeted Sam with enthusiasm as he bounced up to her car the next afternoon. "You're picking me up today?"

"Supposed to be picking you and Lia up. Where is she?"

Taylor sighed. "Went with Trinity Cross and another girl to get dresses for Junior prom. It's in two weeks."

"Girl time, huh?"

Taylor nodded as he got in the front passenger seat of her car. "Yeah. She thinks I'm being paranoid, walking her between classes and making sure she gets home okay. She tells me nothing's going to happen, she's going to be fine, but I keep remembering what you said about seeing Steve and Kylie that day watching her, and I agree with you they're planning something. Kylie's even stopped making nasty comments to Lia when they pass in the hallway, she's acting like Lia doesn't even exist anymore. Just ignores her totally. Lia thinks it's a good thing but I keep feeling like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop." He blew out his breath. "Trinity's supposed to drop her off here at school in two hours—Summer's working on the school newspaper and they have a deadline to meet so she's going to be here until five. Trinity's supposed to drop her off here around four thirty and she'll walk home with Summer. Lia's Aunt Savi won't let her walk home alone, and Lia doesn't want her to meet Trinity—Trinity's not very tactful and she might say something that offends Lia's aunt, and then Lia won't be allowed to be friends with her anymore."

Sam grinned. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

"I wanted to hang around this afternoon—there's an optional practice squad basketball practice this afternoon, our team's going to the State high school basketball Championships, and the practice squad needs to be prepared in case we have an injury and they need to substitute or alternate—but I have that computer assignment from Mr. Harold to work on that I've kind of been looking forward to."

Sam started driving. "If it makes you feel any better, Taylor, I can drive past here in a couple of hours and make sure Lia gets dropped off when she's supposed to, and make sure she gets home if the newspaper club lets out early."

Taylor brightened. "Would you? Lia likes you, she trusts you. She thinks you're cool. I wouldn't worry about her if you're going to do that."

"Sure. My afternoon's free at the moment. And I like her too, she's a good kid." Sam pulled up in front of Taylor and Joss's house. "John was out late last night working for Mr. Finch, so he's asleep now. Try not to wake him up."

"I won't. Thanks, Sam!" Taylor waved as he headed up the front steps.

* * *

"So what do you think?" Lia looked down at the dress she was wearing over her jeans.

Standing in front of her, with the dressing room door open behind Lia, Trinity wrinkled her nose. "It's okay, I guess. It's not what I would have picked but it does look good on you."

"I saw what you picked. It's a nice dress. It's just not me. I don't like my knees showing, I have ugly knees."

"There's no such thing as ugly knees!" Trinity giggled. "Silly."

"I have ugly knees." Lia insisted, then turned to the closest mirror. The dress came to her shins—_Tea-length_, she corrected herself, _that's what Taylor's Mom called it_—and it had a very modest scoop neck, though the front of the bodice was wrapped in pleated fabric, giving the impression of a wrapped top. There was a little rhinestone pin sitting just over Lia's left hip where the fabric wrapping on the bodice ended, making it look like the pin was holding the wrap; Lia liked the overall look. And the dress was a pretty periwinkle, somewhere between purple and blue; it went well with her coloring, and she'd seen flowers in a florist shop's window this color; it wouldn't be hard for Taylor to find flowers for them both. "Okay. I like this one. Let me take it off, and then we can go pay, and look for jewelry next."

"I wish my Dad would give me money like your Dad does," Trinity said enviously.

"I wish my Dad were here and lived with me like yours does," Lia said right back. "My Dad's in India and I haven't seen him since I was ten. Wouldn't you rather have your Dad living with you than just money on a piece of plastic?"

To her credit, Trinity blushed at the gentle rebuke. She said nothing further as Lia went back into the dressing room, slipped out of the dress, and put her own sweater back on, then gathered up the dress and left the dressing room. "Okay, now we have to find jewelry." Trinity announced as they headed for the register.

"You can go ahead. I still have the jewelry Taylor's Mom helped me pick out for the Valentine's dance. I hoped that I could get Aunt Savi to come with me to the store so I can get my ears pierced, but then she fell and broke her ankle and now it's not going to happen," Lia sighed. "It sucks because I really, really wanted to look good for Taylor."

"You like him that much?" Trinity asked as they stood in line.

Lia blushed. "Yes, I do. He's really, really sweet, Trinity. He listens and he asks intelligent questions. He's interested in what I'm doing, but he doesn't make me feel like I have to be interested in what he does. I really like him."

"So have you..." Trinity made a crude hand gesture.

Lia turned a bright pink. "No! Absolutely not! I don't know him that well! I don't know if he'd even consider...doing that...with me." She wrinkled her nose. "I can't even imagine how that would go. Gotta be weird." She put her dress on the counter, waited while the salesgirl scanned the barcode on the tag. "I remember how Dad looked at Mom. And come to think of it, it's just like the way Taylor's Mom looks at her boyfriend. I can't even imagine doing...that...until a guy looks at me like that." In a determined tone, she added, "I won't even consider it until that happens."

Trinity lapsed into an uncomfortable silence for a moment, which Lia barely noticed because she was busy paying for the dress. But by the time she'd paid for her own dress and the two girls were headed out of the store, she was back to her usual self. "You know, maybe you could talk to the lady at the jewelry store and ask her, if you can get your Aunt Savi to talk to her and get your Aunt's permission over the phone, then maybe they could pierce your ears. It takes a couple weeks to heal, but your ears should be ready for something nice by the time prom rolls around."

"That's a good idea. I'll ask." Lia brightened.

Only to be crushed again when she asked the clerk at the store. "If you're a minor, we have to have a parent or guardian present to give permission. We can't just speak to someone over the phone—we don't know if that's actually your Mom talking or someone who agreed to help you. Sorry, we have to have a parent or guardian present to give permission before we can pierce your ears." She looked politely sympathetic at Lia's crestfallen look. "I'm sorry, those are the rules."

Lia was drooping as she and Trinity left the mall. "This sucks." She was almost in tears. "It's such a little thing! And I'm seventeen, I'm old enough to make some decisions on my own!" She was so wrapped up in her disappointment that she walked right past Trinity, who'd come to a stop in mid-step as she checked her phone, which had just chimed with a text. "What's wrong?"

"Kylie just texted me—I forgot until just now that I have a book she needs for her homework. Um...I know I have to drop you off at school by five, but it's only four-thirty right now and Kylie isn't that far away—she's with Steve visiting his older brother at his frat house about ten minutes away. It won't take too long to run there and give her the book she needs."

Lia checked her watch. "Okay. I guess. As long as it doesn't take too long."

"It won't. I'm just running in to give Kylie her book."

True to Trinity's word, they pulled up in front of a large brick building with white columns on the front porch about ten minutes later. "I'll wait in the car, Trinity. You said it won't take long," Lia said. "And I have a new book I wanted to start reading this weekend."

"Okay." The other girl shrugged and headed inside.

Two chapters into her book, Lia realized Trinity wasn't back at the car yet. Checking her watch, she realized that over fifteen minutes had gone by; it was a quarter to five. Sighing, she guessed that Trinity had gotten sidetracked inside the frat house and forgotten Lia was waiting in the car. _I'll just slip inside and remind her I have to be back at school at five_, she thought to herself as she stuffed her book into her backpack and got out of the car.

The door was open, and she stepped inside timidly—to be almost overwhelmed by a barrage of noise. There were too many people, mostly boys, a few girls, in the large front room of the frat house, and the smell of alcohol hung thick in the air. Lia had to force herself not to make a face.

One boy looked up, saw her standing there uncertainly. "Hey! Come to join the party?" he slurred with a sloppy grin on his face.

"Um, no, thank you, though. I was looking for a friend of mine, Trinity Cross?"

"Oh. Trinity. She's upstairs with Kylie." The boy got off the couch, almost tripping over his own feet to do so, and pointed. "Top of the steps there, first door on your right. My little sister wanted her ears pierced and Kylie's doing it."

Curious, Lia climbed up the stairs. The building was a lovely one, probably some old historic building repurposed to a frat house, she supposed. The stairs were sinuous and graceful, curving in a semi-circle from the floor of the hallway to the second floor of the house. And at the top of the stairs, there was a hallway, and she heard Trinity's voice coming from the first door on the right exactly as the boy downstairs had said.

"All right, hold still now, this is the last one, okay?" Lia stopped at the doorway to the room and looked in.

There was a little girl, maybe ten, sitting on the edge of the bed in this room; and on the bed behind her, Kylie, holding what looked like a sewing needle and a piece of cork. "Just one more prick, you're hardly going to feel it," Kylie said reassuringly, and then she slid the needle through the girl's earlobe. "All right, see, that hardly hurt at all! Now I'll just slip the needle out, and put the earring in the hole. Remember to swab it with alcohol every two hours, and keep turning the stud in the hole so it doesn't seal shut around the earring post, okay? And then in two weeks you can take the starter stud out and put regular earrings in, and you'll be all set!"

"Thanks, Kylie!" The little girl burbled happily as Trinity handed her a small hand mirror. "Ooh, that looks bee-yew-tee-ful! I gotta show Dominic!" she slid off the bed and ran past Lia, standing in the doorway of the room.

"You pierced her ears?" Lia looked at the retreating figure of the little girl, bouncing down the stairs.

"It's easy. There's nothing to it." Kylie was starting to put her needle away, then paused. "You know, Trinity said you wanted to get your ears pierced but your Aunt wouldn't give you permission."

"It's not that she didn't give me permission, she just hasn't been available to take to the store so the store can do it." A little part of her mind was warning her to be careful, this was Kylie Whistler, but the other girl was smiling pleasantly and showing no animosity. And Trinity was right there, and the whole house seemed full of people, even walking by in the hallway, so it wasn't like Kylie could pull any nasty tricks like she could if they were alone.

"While I have this out, I can do it real quick. It'll just be a moment." Kylie hunted in her purse. "Look, I even have a spare pair of starter studs. I brought two pairs for Dominic's little sister to choose from and she picked the gold ones, so there's a silver pair here. And if you let your hair down or pull it back in a loose braid, you can cover your ears and your Aunt won't even notice it for the couple weeks it'll take to heal. And by the time she does find out, it'll be too late to undo it. And they'll be healed in time for you to get some really pretty jewelry for your prom with Taylor."

Lia looked at the pair of earrings Kylie held out to her. Silver studs, with tiny black rhinestones. They'd be easy to hide in her hair for the couple weeks it would take to heal, and Kylie was right, once it was done aunt Savi couldn't exactly undo it. Before she realized it, she found herself nodding.

"Cool! You'll love it when it's done, I promise!" Kylie said, patting the edge of the bed next to her. "Come on, sit over here and pull your hair back from your ears so I can do this. Here, I even have a piece of ice here, I'll hold it to your ear so the cold numbs your earlobe. You'll hardly even feel the prick, and the cold will minimize the bleeding too. You saw how I did dom's little sister. There's nothing to it."

"Um...okay..." Lia sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. "But then we really have to get going, Trinity, I have to be at school at five."

"This'll be just a minute, and then you can go right away. It'll be quick." So Lia sat very still as Kylie held the ice cube to her left ear. "Okay, count one full minute," the other girl ordered, and Lia held up her arm, looking at her watch. "Okay," she said when the minute was up. "It's been a minute."

There was a sharp prick. Lia sucked in a gasp, but really, it was no worse than getting a shot at the doctor's office. Rather less, in fact. With her earlobe numb, she barely felt Kylie slipping the needle out of her earlobe and in fact didn't even feel the earring going in until Kylie sat back and said, "Time for the other one."

"Done? That fast?" she blinked.

"Of course!" Kylie giggled as she reached toward the bedside table and picked up the little hand mirror she'd given Dominic's little sister to see herself with. "Take a look!" and there, in her earlobe, was the tiny silver stud. It did look nice—and at the jewelry store earlier she'd seen a pair of earrings shaped like flowers in the same periwinkle blue as her dress. She'd be able to go back to the store and get those now! "Please do the other one," she begged as she handed the mirror back to Kylie. "And then we really do have to go."

She was impatient, and apparently didn't give Kylie enough time to hold the ice to her ear. This time when the needle pierced her earlobe, it did hurt, and she gasped as tears sprang to her eyes. "Oh..." but then it was done, and both her ears matched in the little hand mirror, and she smiled through her suddenly-watering eyes. "Thank you...oh...sorry for crying..."

"It's okay," Kylie handed her a tissue from a box on the bedside table. "I think I didn't hold the ice on long enough. Here. Have a drink." She swept two cups of what looked like red fruit punch from that bedside table and handed one to Lia, keeping the other for herself. "And then you and Trinity had better go or you won't be back at school in time."

There wasn't much punch in the little cup, and Lia figured if she took one big gulp, she could drink it all down quickly and then they could go. It wasn't until she'd already swallowed the entire contents of the cup that she realized it tasted absolutely terrible, and she coughed and gasped for a moment, her face wrinkling as she got the full effect of the bitter burn. "Ugh. That tasted terrible."

"I didn't taste anything wrong. Really." Kylie drank her cup down in one gulp. "All right, you and Trinity had better go."

Lia stood up, touching the stud in her ear. It felt odd, but she supposed she'd just have to get used to it. The steps, for some reason, seemed to be blurring in front of her eyes, and she dabbed at her eyes with the tissue, wishing they weren't watering so much. She nearly tripped on the last step, and Kylie put a hand on her arm to steady her. "Thanks," Lia said, and headed out the door.

The lawn between the front door of the frat house and Trinity's car seemed to be longer than it had been when she walked up it, and the sidewalk seemed terrifyingly far away. As she reached the curb where Trinity's car was parked, she tripped over a hummock of grass, and fell forward, ending up on her hands and knees beside the car. "What..." she tried to talk, but her mind felt like it was wrapped in wool, and there was a roaring in her ears. "What...is..."

"Congratulations, Kylie, I didn't think you'd actually be able to do it!" And her blurry eyes saw Steve Wood materialize beside Kylie. A distant part of her brain became alarmed, and she tried to struggle up, but she couldn't seem to coordinate movement enough.

"Come on, let's get her inside. She's going to be out of it in a minute."

"Um, come on, Kylie. Just put her in my car and let's let her go," Trinity tried to say, but Kylie glared at her.

"Give me her dress and her backpack and just get out of here. You did your part. Thanks. Glad to see your loyalty to me still holds." Trinity paused for a moment, uncertain, as Kylie grabbed one of Lia's arms and Steve Wood the other, then she shrugged, grabbed Lia's backpack and plastic-bagged prom dress out of the front passenger side of her car, and put them down on the curb. Then she got in and pulled away.


	25. Chapter 25: Rescue

**Chapter 25: Rescue**

The schoolyard was much quieter now, two hours after school had let out. Sam pulled her car to a stop at the curb in front of the school's main entrance, then looked around. Off to one side, on the grassy practice field, the basketball team seemed to be ready to break up for the day, many players already heading across the field to their cars or to the road leading out to the road. There were a few kids strolling along in clusters on the front sidewalk, but the schoolyard was otherwise deserted.

Sam scanned the sidewalk for the group of girls Lia usually walked home with. The one girl Taylor had called 'Summer' had part of her hair dyed a bright fluorescent pink; it would be easy to spot in a crowd, and impossible to miss.

But there was no pink hair on any of the sidewalks, and Sam waited until quarter after five before deciding they must have gotten out already. She must have missed them. She drove once around the perimeter of the school, then slowly started driving along the girls' usual walk route, hoping to spot Lia, or Summer Winters' bright pink hair.

And about halfway to Lia's Aunt and Uncle's apartment building, she finally saw that shock of bright pink hair—and the four other girls who usually walked the same way and, Sam supposed, also lived in the same apartment building. But they weren't walking, they'd stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and were clustered around Summer's cellphone, watching something on the screen. Sam frowned as she pulled up in front of them, rolled down the passenger window, and said, "Hey. You girls usually walk home with Lia Riante. Do you know where she is?"

And Summer Winters froze at the sound of Lia's name, with a scared 'deer in the headlights' look.

Every alarm bell Sam Shaw possessed went off in her head at once, and she was out of her car before she even realized she was moving. The four girls stood frozen, clustered there on the sidewalk, and she ripped the cellphone out of Summer Winters' hand, glanced down at it casually as she started to toss it aside to get the girl's attention.

Lia was on the cellphone screen.

It took barely a second for Sam to process that it was Lia, and barely two seconds before she identified something was wrong. With an eye trained at spotting weaknesses and anything out of the ordinary, it didn't take too long for Sam to see Lia's eyes were glazed, and her movement was uncoordinated. It also didn't take that long for Sam to notice a few other things. One, that this was a live video feed sent to Summer's phone from someone else's phone; two, that Lia seemed to be fighting someone's attempt to take off her clothes. Just as she was about to demand an explanation from Summer, whoever was taking the video suddenly spoke. "Stop fighting, Lia. Just sit back and enjoy it. Give the boys a good time."

Kylie Whistler!

Ice swept through Sam's soul, and when she looked up, the four girls standing in front of her saw the frozen fury on her face and went pale. "Where is this coming from? Where's Lia?"

"I...I...I don't know..." Summer stammered.

Sam didn't waste any more time. "Finch," she snapped to the earwig in her ear. "Finch, I know you can hear me, it's an emergency."

"Ms. Shaw?" came Finch's surprised voice from her phone.

"I don't have time to explain. I'm holding a cellphone in my right hand. It's getting a live transmission of a video feed from somewhere. I need the location of the phone sending that feed."

"This is quite sudden, Ms. Shaw—"

"Damn it, Finch, just do it! Tap into the cell phone transmission and look at the damn video!" She snapped as she got into her car and started the ignition.

Barely a second later Finch spoke again—and his voice was flat with shock. "Is that—"

"—Taylor's girlfriend, Lia. Someone drugged her and they're trying to rape her—and Kylie Whistler is sending everyone a live cellphone video of the assault! Now give me that address!"

Finch rattled off an address. "That's on the NYU campus, where Steve Wood's brother is a student," Sam snapped tersely as she slammed her foot on the gas pedal. "Call John. And Joss." A moment later, "Call Captain Benson at the SVU. This is her squad's jurisdiction. Tell everyone to get to that address, as fast as possible! Hurry, Finch!"

* * *

"Mr. Reese, we have an emergency. I need you to go to—" John didn't even bother writing the address down; he had it memorized just listening to the panic in Finch's voice. He'd rarely ever heard the other man sound like that. "It's at an NYU frat house. Taylor's girlfriend Lia has been drugged and is being sexually assaulted there. Someone at the scene is taking a video with a cellphone and transmitting it to other cellphones belonging to other children at Taylor's school."

John felt his jaw drop in shock, but schooled his face quickly. He didn't want Taylor to know this, not just yet—the boy was playing his video game. _This is an NYU frat house. There's a lot of drunk college boys. If Lia's badly hurt Taylor will lose it—and I can't take care of him and this situation too. Better he not know—not right now._ Aloud, he said, "Taylor, I just got a call from my boss. I have to go. Be back soon." And he was gone.

In the car he ground out through gritted teeth, "What's happening now?"

"Sam is on the way. She'll probably get there in a few minutes. You need to get there as soon as you can, John."

"Did you call Joss?"

"She's my next call. And then Sam told me to call Captain Benson at the SVU, as this is her squad's expertise."

"I'll be there in five minutes." Then, grimly, "Tell Sam to leave enough of the boys' bodies to identify."

"I can try but I doubt she will listen to me."

* * *

"Taylor's really been good for his school's basketball team. Lee says your son's school has never been this close to a State championship before," Fusco said as he closed another folder on his desk and opened the next.

"I know Taylor's good at basketball, but he's been getting better since John started taking him out to the courts after school and shooting hoops with him—" Joss stopped speaking as her phone rang. Her eyebrows rose as she saw 'Unknown' on her phone screen, and she smiled as she answered it. 'So what can I find for you today?"

"Sorry, Detective, no time to chat." The barely-veiled panic in Finch's tome cut Joss's banter short, and she grabbed a piece of paper and started scribbling an address down. "Taylor's girlfriend Lia has been drugged and is being sexually assaulted—"

"Oh my God, Lia's being raped?" her voice rose incredulously on that last word even as she sprang out of her chair, grabbing her purse. Across from her, Fusco was also in motion, grabbing his keys and leading the way at a run, toward the motorpool.

"Someone at the scene is sending a live cellphone video. Sam saw it on the screen of a cellphone belonging to one of Lia's schoolmates. I managed to track where the feed was coming from and sent Sam the address, she should be arriving on scene any moment now. John isn't far behind."

"Taylor?"

"I don't believe John has informed Taylor yet. I imagine he thinks Taylor would want to accompany him and I don't believe John would feel equal to trying to control the situation, stop Ms. Shaw from murdering the boys involved, and keep Taylor from getting hurt—or hurting someone—at the same time."

"It's better that he not know right now. I'm on the way with Lionel." She handed the paper with the address on it to Lionel; he took a brief look, nodded, and then hit the lights and sirens as he peeled out of the motorpool parking lot.

"Sam also requested that I contact the SVU captain, Olivia Benson."

Joss nodded. "Yes, Do that. I'll want her squad at the scene as soon as possible. This is their jurisdiction and it'll save me having to call them later."

"I'll call her next. Just get there as fast as you can."

* * *

"So you got any plans for the weekend?" Fin looked up as Olivia closed her office door.

"Go home, grab some shuteye, and spend the rest of the weekend with Clayton and Auggie. I called Joss and John earlier this week to ask her if Taylor would consider going with Auggie and Marissa to Cam's for the summer, I'll probably stop by her place and talk to her, see if Taylor's decided if he wants to do it or not."

"Givin' Joss and John some kid-free time?" Fin grinned.

Olivia grinned back. "Not like they don't deserve it."

Fin snorted. "After what they've been through, they deserve the rest of their lives together. The way they look at each other, they'd like that. Wonder what's stoppin' em?"

"It's none of our business, Fin—" Olivia stopped talking as her phone rang. "Unknown?" she answered it. "Captain Benson, Manhattan SVU."

"Captain Benson, thank you for answering. We have a bit of an emergency at present..."

She finally placed the voice. "Finch?"

At his desk, Fin sat bolt upright, his eyes flying open. She held up a hand to forestall his question, trying to focus on what she was hearing. "Wait, wait, Joss's son's girlfriend is being_ raped_? Right _now_?!" A pause as she leaned across her desk and grabbed a sticky, jotting an address on it. "NYU. Right. I'll be there as soon as possible, though, I suspect, not as quickly as some of our mutual friends. Just...tell them to try not to leave a mess I can't explain, okay?" Without waiting for a reply, she hung up. "Come on, Fin. Joss's son's girlfriend was drugged and sexually assaulted at an NYU frat house."

* * *

The door was open when Sam got there.

Not that it really made a difference, because she would have opened the door herself even if it hadn't already been open. This just ensured she didn't have to waste time or energy kicking the damn door in.

The front room, she noted with absolute disgust, was full of inebriated boys. So drunk that they just stared stupidly at her as she came flying in the open door; she didn't waste time asking where Lia was, or asking anything at all of the boys here, because she was positive there wasn't a single person in there who could hear anything over the blaring music. Instead, she pulled her new Beretta from under her jacket, took aim, and fired across the room at the monster sound system, which was blaring out some ungodly cacophony of sounds. "Where's Lia?"

Eight pairs of eyes blinked stupidly at her; inebriated brains unable to comprehend the question aimed at them. Sam gritted her teeth—at the moment, every instinct she had, every fiber of her being, wanted to paint the walls of this room red, and the only thing keeping her from doing so was the even-more-urgent whisper in her head that said she needed to find Lia _now_.

As she stood there wondering if she should threaten one of them with a bullet if they didn't talk, she realized she could hear sounds from the second floor. Male voices, sounding like they were cheering or urging someone on; a girlish female voice that Sam was positive was Kylie Whistler. But she couldn't hear Lia, and that was the most worrisome—and the one thing that made her blood boil.

She took the curving, sinuous stairs two at a time, full-speed—and when she got to the top of the stairs she made a hard right. The door the sounds were coming from was closed, and it was locked.

But locked doors had never stopped Sam Shaw.

The door flew open, sagging crazily from one twisted hinge. And when Sam saw what was happening inside, icy rage flooded her.

Lia was on the bed, her shirt missing, bra hanging off one shoulder, nude from the waist down. At the foot of the bed, two boys were holding each of her ankles, keeping her from kicking out. At the head of the bed, Kylie was sitting propped against the headboard, holding her cellphone aimed at Lia—who was struggling just to breathe, since Steve was sitting on her chest, holding Lia's wrists pinned to the bed above her head with one hand as he fumbled with the waistband of his boxers with the other.

He never even knew Sam was there.

With a strength borne of absolute fury, Sam's hand shot out, grabbed the first handful of him she could reach, and yanked hard. She heard him howl, didn't even blink as she dragged him off Lia by his hair and flung him to the floor, then finished him with a hard, brutal kick right between his legs. He shrieked, his voice a whole octave higher than its usual tone, and curled up on his side, sobbing as he balled his fists between his thighs.

Kylie started to move...then stopped and slowly raised her hands, her face going pale at the sight of the muzzle of Sam's Beretta a bare inch away from her own face. "You _bitch_," Sam hissed, barely recognizing her own voice for the hatred and rage in it. "You scheming, conniving little _bitch_."

Kylie froze. The gun pointed at her face was shaking with its holder's rage, but at this range, if Sam chose to pull the trigger, there was no way she could miss, even with all the shaking. The standoff lasted for two frozen seconds, for what seemed like an eternity, until a weak voice croaked, "S-s-sam?"

And time snapped back into focus for Sam Shaw. _Deal with the bitch later, just eliminate the threat now._ She reversed her gun, clubbed Kylie hard across the face, across the blond girl's left cheekbone. The girl dropped like a stone, out cold next to her still-howling boyfriend, and Sam abandoned both of them in favor of going to the bed.

Lia was trying to coordinate her movement enough to get off the bed, but wasn't succeeding. Sam sat down on the edge of the bed, and the girl crawled to her, crying; Sam wrapped her hands around the girl, feeling the slim body shaking with sobs, and whispered, "Sssh. Ssh. They won't touch you anymore." A glance at the floor; Kylie was out cold, and Steve Wood seemed disinclined to move—especially when Sam pointed her gun at him. "Stay the hell there. You move, I'll shoot. I'll take your knee. You'll never walk straight after that." Steve subsided, and Sam returned her attention to Lia. "Hey. It's okay."

Lia's eyes were glazed, her speech slurred, and when she spoke Sam knew she'd been drugged—with the same stuff John had been drugged with, if her sense of smell was any indication. The smell of Ten Scope was strong on Lia's breath. How much had they given her? John definitely hadn't been this uncoordinated. "Lia. Lia, look at me." The girl tried, but she couldn't focus. "Okay. Okay, I don't know how much of this stuff they gave you but he have to get as much of it out of you as we can." She turned Lia in her arms so the girl was face-down over her left arm, then slipped her fingers between the girl's slack lips and thrust hard toward the back of the girl's throat.

Lia vomited quite satisfactorily. Not much, but what she vomited was pinkish, and Sam thought she remembered seeing a glass bowl of red punch downstairs, and her fury grew. _So sheltered that no one ever told her not to drink anything anyone hands you at a party,_ she thought, full of disgust and anger at Lia's aunt and Uncle. _Sheltered and naive. Lia's not ready to be an adult because they've sheltered her too much._

"Tired..." Lia moaned, and Sam shrugged out of her jacket. She wasn't going anywhere until backup arrived; Lia needed care. In this state, there was no telling what might happen now.

"No, don't go to sleep, Lia. Stay with me, okay? Stay awake. Come on. Let's put my jacket over your shoulders, okay? Cover you up." A quick look showed Lia wasn't bleeding between her legs, but that didn't necessarily mean she hadn't been raped; it would take a medical exam to determine that. But she had red areas on her ankles, on her thighs, on her wrists and upper arms, that Sam knew would become bruises later, and she didn't like what that might mean.

She resolutely put that out of her mind as she reached for Lia's wrist, searching for a pulse.. "Stay with me, okay, Lia? Stay with me, just a little longer..."


	26. Chapter 26: John

**Chapter 26: John**

John didn't bother drawing his gun as he ran up the grassy front lawn of the historic building that had been repurposed as one of NYU's most popular frat houses. None of these...children...were going to be a real threat; there was so much anger-fueled adrenaline flowing through him that he was channeling it to his senses, becoming hyperaware of his surroundings.

The front room of the frat house was empty—but the litter of empty punch cups and abandoned half-empty beer bottles told their own story. As did the single bullet hole through the center of the speaker system's receiver—Sam had gotten their attention as only she could—or would. And they had all decided to make themselves scarce. That was fine; Finch was no doubt looking at campus security camera footage right now and identifying whoever might have escaped out that door before John had gotten there. They could be dealt with later.

"Up here, John," he heard Sam call, and he took the steps two at a time. The door, half-ripped off its hinges, was the first thing he saw; the second was Kylie, out cold on the floor, and Steve Wood, who looked like he'd been planning on getting up...until he saw John, at which he'd frozen with a look of fear in his eyes. John saw the way his fists were balled between his thighs, and smiled grimly. A kick to the groin was particularly painful, for a male; if, as John suspected, Sam had caught Steve aroused, the pain had to be crippling. He wouldn't be moving anywhere fast anytime soon. And on the bed was Lia; Sam had stretched her out on the bed, covered her from the waist down with the sheet, her upper body wrapped in Sam's own jacket.

"She's been drugged. It's the same stuff Aleksa got you with. It hit her a lot harder—I'm having trouble keeping her awake. I made her throw up to get whatever was left in her stomach out before it hit her bloodstream. Her pulse is weak, but it's there. She's very disoriented, and lethargic—I wonder if she didn't have a mild anaphylaxis attack." She focused her attention on Steve. "After you drugged her, was there a moment when she seemed like she was choking, trying to breathe, and panicking because she couldn't?"

Steve stared at her, fear replaced with sullenness, and didn't say a word.

John pulled his hand back and hit the boy.

He barely remembered, at the last moment, to not do anything that Joss and Olivia Benson would have a hard time explaining; and he certainly didn't want to get the SVU in trouble for police brutality. So instead of hitting Steve with a closed fist, he slapped the sullen look off the boy's face with an open hand; then cupped the boy's chin hard in an 'attention grab' he'd learned long ago in military SERE training. "Answer the lady. Or it won't be a slap next time."

Steve didn't look at Sam. "Yes." He ground out through gritted teeth. "Thought it was because Kylie was forcing her mouth open."

John glanced at the blond girl on the floor. He'd never before hit a woman who didn't hit him first; it was ingrained into him, but he'd never before felt such an urge to hit a female as he did now. Thank God Sam had knocked her out; John was sure if he had to talk to her he _would_ hit her.

A commotion at the front door; then Joss's voice. "John? Sam?"

"Up here," Sam called before he could say anything, and he returned his attention to Steve Wood, never once relaxing his hold on the boy's chin. The carotid artery was so close, so temptingly close; he could squeeze that, rid the earth of this piece of filth who would drug an innocent young girl and rape her while she was unconscious...

"Let him go, John. Come on, let him go. I got him now." The red haze cleared from John's vision a little, and he recognized Lionel Fusco, standing there with a pair of handcuffs. "I'll take him. I got him."

John let Steve go, somewhat reluctantly; Joss was beside Sam on the bed, leaning over Lia. "Lia, hey, sweetie, come on, open your eyes and look at me, okay? It's Joss, Taylor's Mom. Open your eyes and look at me, okay?"

It seemed to take a monumental effort for Lia to open her eyes. "Taylor...?"

"No, it's Taylor's Mom. Can you sit up?" But Lia's eyes just closed again.

"She's been drugged," came a new voice at the door, and John looked up, to see Detective Fin Tutuola and Captain Olivia Benson from Manhattan SVU. "We been seein' an epidemic of this in cases that involve college frats. A new date rape drug that's making the rounds." Olivia crossed the room quickly, joining Joss by the bed as Fin stepped up beside John, joined shortly thereafter by Sam, all three of them forgotten as Joss and Olivia worked on Lia. "These frat boys get girls to drink the stuff. It doesn't knock them out, but they have no memory of what they did later. Lia ain't gonna remember any of this later."

"Yeah, well, she's gonna be reminded by the other kids in her class," Sam ground out as she passed over Summer Winters' phone to the stocky detective. "Taylor wanted to go home to work on Finch's computer project, so I promised him I'd stop back at the school when Lia was supposed to be dropped off by Trinity Cross after they went shopping for prom dresses. When I drove up I didn't see Lia anywhere, so I started driving along the route the girls usually take going home, and saw Summer Winters and her crew stopped in the middle of the sidewalk watching something on her cellphone screen. I came up to ask them if they'd seen Lia and they looked so guilty the moment I mentioned her name I knew something was wrong. And then I saw the cellphone feed Kylie was broadcasting." Her tone went flat, icy. "She said 'lie back and enjoy it, give the boys a good time.'"

"We'll take this into evidence." Fin took the phone from Sam, carefully dropping it into a clear evidence baggie. "In the meantime, maybe you two should make yourselves scarce. We're gonna have to call NYU Campus Police, and a forensic team to gather evidence, so if you want to preserve your anonymity..."

Sam nodded and grabbed John's arm as she headed for the door. "I wanna talk to John privately anyway."

Once outside in the hall she gave in to her anger, her fury, and unleashed it on him. "Damn it, this might not have happened if you and Finch had just _listened_ to me! You both thought Lia couldn't get in trouble, you brushed it off when I suggested it, and now look what happened!"

"It wasn't just John, Sam, I didn't think she could get in trouble either, so he's not entirely to blame for this," Joss said tiredly, stepping out into the hallway. "I underestimated the kind of trouble Kylie could get Lia into."

Sam was too angry to talk anymore. "Fine," she bit off angrily. "You take care of Lia. I'm getting out of here before I hit both of you." She turned on her heel and stalked off.

* * *

"Don't," Joss caught John's arm as he started after Sam. "Just let her cool off. She really likes Lia—remember the evening at the restaurant when Sam and Finch showed up? They came because Sam wanted to meet Lia. She thought we were being too dismissive of possible danger and wanted to keep an eye on Lia herself."

John stared at her. "So Sam saw this coming. We didn't."

"No, we didn't. I didn't even think about it. Sam's got a right to be mad at both of us." She sighed, scrubbing her forearm across her forehead. "Where's Taylor?"

"Left him at home playing video games. I just told him that I had to go out for a bit and I'd be back. I didn't tell him why—I didn't know if he'd maintain his calm in this situation and I didn't know if I could handle him and whatever the situation was when I got here." He sighed. "Should have expected Sam would take care of threats."

"Yeah. She would. Okay. Go home, tell Taylor what happened—gently—and tell him I'm going to be at the hospital with Lia."

"If he asks to come?"

"Maybe not a good idea. She's been traumatized and because of the Ten Scope, she probably won't remember anything when she wakes up. She might never remember. Did you ever remember everything from the night Aleksa drugged you?" Numbly, John shook his head, feeling guilt settle over him like a blanket. _I didn't think she would get in trouble. Sam's right to be angry with us._

Almost as if she could read his mind, Joss shook his arm gently. "Sam will be fine. She's mad but she'll get over it. We made a mistake, we miscalculated how vicious Kylie was. It's done, it's happened, there's nothing we can do about it, so let's just pick up the pieces and do what we can, okay?"

But despite Joss's words, he still felt guilt tear through him as he drove quietly home through darkened streets. Even Finch seemed to sense his mood, because after a brief statement about preserving the footage from the NYU campus security cameras for the SVU in case they needed it, he left John alone with his own thoughts.

Taylor looked up as John came in. "Is Mr. Finch okay?"he said, then he took in John's face. "What happened? Is Mr. Finch hurt?"

"No. It wasn't Harold." John took a deep breath. "Sit down, Taylor."

Taylor put his game controller down. "What? What's wrong? Is Mom..." he swallowed hard. "Is Mom..."

"No, no, it's not Mom." John sat on the couch next to Taylor, suddenly so drained he couldn't stand anymore. "You know Lia was supposed to go dress shopping with Trinity, right?"

Puzzlement creased Taylor's forehead. "Yeah...when Sam picked me up this afternoon I told her and she promised she'd stop back at the school at five when Lia was supposed to be dropped off to walk home with Summer and her friends." Then something clicked. "Is it Sam? Lia?"

"Somehow Lia wound up at a frat house on the NYU campus. Sam walked in on Steve... assaulting...Lia. And Kylie..." Bile rose in his throat, created a sour taste in his mouth. "Kylie was watching. Worse, she was filming it with her cellphone. And she broadcast it to the cellphones of kids at your school."

"Oh...my God..." Taylor looked thunderstruck, and then John saw tears form in the boy's eyes. "Is she...is it like Mom..."

"No, no, it's not that bad, she wasn't bleeding. Steve and Kylie drugged her—Sam got there first and she knocked Kylie out and...immobilized Steve." He'd bet that what Sam had done was barely a fraction of what she'd really wanted to do, which was—likely—to kill Steve and Kylie. A sentiment he agreed wholeheartedly with and, had Steve and Kylie both been older, one that he would seriously have considered. "She got Lia to throw up the rest of the drug in her system, but she says the drug is one that will make Lia forget everything that happened."

"So she won't remember anything." Good." Relief washed over Taylor's face for a split second, then suddenly his eyes narrowed. "Wait. You said Kylie took video of it on her cellphone and sent it to other kids at school."

"Yes."

"So Lia won't have to remember. The kids at school will remind her. Every day, in every way possible." The horrified realization on Taylor's face was followed by a fresh rush of tears. "Oh, God."

John reached out, put an arm around Taylor's shoulders. They sat that way in silence for a moment, each engrossed in their own thoughts, then Taylor said, "Is that where you went?"

"Yes. Sam called Harold, Harold called me, then he called Mom and Lionel at the precinct and Captain Benson at the SVU, and she showed up with one of her detectives."

"You didn't tell me." The flat tone was accompanied by a tensing of the muscles in Taylor's shoulders even as the boy pulled himself out from under John's arm, looking at John with accusation in his eyes. "You didn't tell me."

John shook his head. "I didn't. I was worried that if you came along, you might lose your temper at the other boys there, or at Steve and Kylie, and I might not be able to control the situation long enough for Mom and Olivia to get there."

"You didn't tell me!" If Taylor had even heard John's explanation, he gave no sign that he realized what John had been trying to do. "My girlfriend was in trouble and you didn't tell me!" He flew off the couch, paced angrily to the other end of the room. "When Mom got hurt I called you. I called you and told you. You knew. So why didn't you do the same for me?" without waiting for John to answer, he rushed on. "You treat me like an adult only until something bad happens and then all of a sudden I'm a kid again and I need to be sheltered. Mom does the same thing, to her I'm still her little boy. I expected that from Mom, but I didn't expect that from you. I thought we were friends. I thought I could talk to you like a man, that you'd treat me as an equal. Since we started hanging out I learned what you expect of yourself, and I tried to be like you, to expect the same things of myself that you expect of yourself. And suddenly you're treating me like a kid, like Mom does, like my Dad does."

"Taylor..." But he couldn't say anything. There was nothing to say. What could he say to this young man facing him across the living room with a maelstrom of emotions in his eyes? Nothing. There were only empty words that could do nothing to save John from the anger in Taylor's eyes. Anger, and hurt, and betrayal.

"I thought you were different. I thought you were a friend, that you were cool. That we could be friends, equals. Yeah, right." His voice was flat, leaden.

"I..." But there was nothing John could say.

"So Mom's at the hospital with Lia?"

He seized on that gratefully. "Yes. Captain Benson and Mom went to the hospital with Lia, they'll make sure she's okay and they'll probably take Lia home and explain what happened to her Aunt and Uncle." Another worry. John remembered, vividly, what Joss had gone through in her recovery from what Walker had done to her. And he still remembered Olivia Benson's words to him; _recovery after something like this is as much about what support you have as it is about who you are._ Would Lia's Aunt and Uncle help her, give her the emotional support Lia was going to need, as John had given Joss emotional support for her recovery?

A tiny voice in the back of his head said 'no'.

"Can I go?" Taylor asked.

"Mom said that might not be a good idea, Taylor—"

But Taylor didn't wait for his explanation, refused to listen to him. "Just like Mom. Shelter me. Baby me. After everything that's happened in the last year, I hoped maybe all of you would see me as an adult. Thanks for proving me wrong." And he spun on his heel, stormed out of the living room; seconds later, John heard the door to Taylor's room close. Softly, though. Not a slam.

Somehow that hurt worse than if Taylor had slammed his door.

He'd miscalculated. Badly. Taylor's words rang in his ears_. I learned what you expect of yourself, and I tried to be like you, to expect the same things of myself that you expect of yourself._ He'd seen Taylor maturing right before his eyes; had seen how the boy was learning to control himself. _I tried to be like you_. Yes, Taylor was trying to be like John himself; he wasn't as impulsive and quick-tempered as he used to be, wasn't as impulsive and quick-tempered as John knew Paul Carter to be. Somewhere along the way, Taylor had made a conscious decision to not be like his father.

Had made a conscious decision to be more like John himself.

Not that John considered himself as a good role model. Had never once, in fact, considered himself as a role model for anyone. Yes, there had been times, when he dreamed what it would be like to have children of his own, he'd thought about the qualities he would have liked to instill in his kids; a son—if he'd ever had one—he realized now that he would have wanted his son to turn out like Taylor. Kind, conscientious, protective and considerate, but at the same time controlled, not too impulsive, thinking, rational. Taylor was the son he'd always thought he'd have liked to have.

And now he'd let the boy down, exactly as Paul Carter had let his son down. In Joss, it was understandable; she was his mother, he was her little boy, the precious, precious little boy she'd nearly died giving birth to, the little boy who had wanted to protect her from his own father, the little boy who had been terrified that his mother was going to die the day his father had thrown a vase at his mother and cut her head open. The little boy whose earliest memory had been of his father lunging at his mother with a kitchen knife. No, no matter how old Taylor got or how big he got, those would be Joss's instant memories of him, and the way she would always see him. She was his mother. It was natural.

But John had fallen into that, too; had refused to see the man in the boy. Oh, he saw the young man in calmer times, but in a crisis he'd seen Taylor as a little boy, and yes, it had been an insult to the brave, thoughtful young man Taylor Carter had become.

"I'm sorry," John whispered. But it was, as all his apologies were, too little and too late.


	27. Chapter 27: Sam

**Chapter 27: Sam**

Stupid men.

_Damn_ stupid men.

Damn stupid blind thickheaded _men_.

A distant part of Sam realized that she wasn't exactly being fair or rational at the moment; she was angry, and she was taking it out on John and Harold. But the greater part of her didn't care as she stormed out of the frat house, not even bothering to close the front door. Not really a point, anyway, since the NYPD's crime scene techs would be there momentarily.

If they'd listened to her, if they'd taken the possible threat to Lia's safety seriously, maybe this wouldn't have happened. It wasn't as if the Machine would have given them Lia's number—drugging her senseless and then sexually assaulting her wouldn't pose a distinct danger to her life, so the Machine wouldn't have taken notice—it had a whole world to watch, after all. But John and Harold should have _listened_ to her.

She flung herself into her car and sat for long minutes, knowing if she drove angry she was likely to do something stupid that would get her into an accident. But anger was still a living thing inside her, twined around a hard knot somewhere deep in her chest, that knot where she buried all of her emotions.

_Calm down. Think rationally_. But she seemed unable to do that now, couldn't pull out the coolly rational, logical, dispassionate detachment that she'd felt for patients when she was practicing medicine. And she didn't know why.

In her rearview mirror, she watched Lionel Fusco take Steve Wood out in handcuffs toward a waiting ambulance. The boy was hobbling, unable to stand straight, barely able to walk; but Lionel, it seemed, didn't have much sympathy for the boy's temporary indisposition. He wasn't rushing the boy, but the hand on the boy's arm was less for support than it was about keeping the boy's momentum going.

And here came Fin Tutuola, with Kylie. The girl was whining, complaining, saying she wanted to go to the hospital to see if her cheekbone was fractured after 'that nasty woman' had hit her with a gun; Sam gritted her teeth, feeling once again the urge to pull her gun and shoot the bitch. But she didn't seem to be getting a lot of sympathy from Fin, either; like Lionel with Steve, the hand on the girl's arm (her wrists were cuffed behind her) was meant mostly to keep her moving, and Fin, though not openly shoving her around, was moving a little faster than was strictly necessary.

EMTs took a gurney up the front walk as Steve was coming down; they paused as Kylie came out the front door, then they hurried in. Sam turned off the car, waited until she saw them come back out with Lia strapped to the gurney, Joss following closely beside. Olivia Benson followed them down the walk, exchanging a few words with Joss that Sam was too far away to hear, before Joss climbed into the ambulance with Lia and Olivia went back in, presumably to oversee the crime scene investigation.

_Not that there's much to actually investigate. The cellphone video is pretty self-explanatory. Although, come to think of it, the bullet in the stereo receiver might be a bit hard for Olivia to explain,_ but Sam really didn't care at the moment.

A black crime scene van came around the corner, and Sam was about to pull out to give them more parking space along the curb when she noticed something. At the edge of the curb, on a narrow strip of grass between the street and the sidewalk, sat a lone backpack and a black plastic formal dress bag. And she recognized the backpack as Lia's.

She climbed out of her car, went to pick the backpack up. It seemed to be absolutely stuffed, and she grunted a little as she swung it up onto her own shoulder. _What's Lia got in this thing? Rocks?_ Sam couldn't remember ever having to carry this many books when she was in school.

She took the backpack back to her car, dropping it in the back seat, then went back for the dress bag and carefully unzipped it, hoping that the dress had somehow escaped injury. It had. Sam wasn't much of a 'girlie' girl, she was much more of a tomboy and wasn't into frilly dresses, but this dress was simply beautiful and she paused for a long moment, looking at it. _Lia would look beautiful in this dress. She has very good taste in clothes. _And then, as Sam zipped the bag back up, she thought, _I hope she gets a chance to wear it. I'll bet she won't feel like going to prom now._

Especially since half the school saw what Steve did to her thanks to Kylie's cellphone video.

Rage splintered Sam's calm, and she draped the dress across her backseat carefully, then slammed the door with more force than was necessary. She tried to calm herself as she got behind the wheel, but this time, she couldn't. Lia's backpack and prom dress lay across her back seat, a mute accusation that their owner hadn't been adequately protected from the nastiness of the world around her, hadn't been adequately prepared to deal with Kylie whistler's machinations and betrayal.

_I wonder if Trinity Cross was deliberately told by Kylie to make friends with Lia to trick her into this?_ Sam yanked out her cellphone, pulled up Trinity Cross's social media page. Yes, she was one of Kylie Whistler's crowd. So Lia had been set up, this shopping trip deliberately constructed to put Lia in Kylie's reach.

_Scheming, conniving little __**bitch**__._

But there was nothing that Sam could do about it. At this point, it was out of her hands. As much as she would have liked to go hunt down every single one of the boys who'd been in that frat house, had known what was going on and done nothing to stop it; as much as she wanted to go hunt down every kid who'd had that cellphone video broadcasted to their cellphones and hadn't called the police, Sam knew that Olivia and Joss were trying to take care of the situation and anything Sam did would only complicate things further. There was nothing she could do except save Lia's books and her dress, and give them back to the girl when Lia was conscious enough to remember her things and wonder what had happened to them.

Sam Shaw hated feeling helpless. And her anger wasn't going away either.

She took a hard right just before she reached her midtown loft—one of her own safehouses, and not a Harold Finch handout. Not that there was anything wrong with Harold's properties, but Sam treasured her own independence and never wanted to feel like she owed anyone anything. It was all right for John, who had literally nothing before he hooked up with Harold and Harold's crusade, and thus needed the loft that Harold had gifted him with; but Sam didn't want to feel obligated to Harold for anything. The payments she took from him were for her help on their cases, and she enjoyed the work, but the unspoken understanding she was carefully trying to keep in place was that she helped them because _she_ wanted to, and if she decided she didn't want to work with them anymore, there were no strings that would oblige her to return. Uncomplicated, just the way she liked it.

No way for Harold to betray her, like Control had betrayed Sam and Michael.

She pulled up in front of a little bar she knew well. Not that far from her building, with unlimited parking so if Sam got trashed (which she fully intended to do, tonight; maybe if she got so drunk she couldn't walk straight, she'd be able to stop being angry) she could walk home. Maybe getting drunk would get that aching knot out of her chest, too; she felt like she was struggling to breathe around it, a peculiar feeling that she'd felt only twice before in her life; when her father had died in the car accident, and then when Michael had died.

She walked into the bar. By now she was enough of a regular that the bartender didn't even blink an eye. "Your usual poison?" Was the only comment, and at her curt nod, he busied himself getting her favorite drink.

But the alcohol didn't take the edge off her anger. Didn't do anything for that funny knot in her chest. The more she drank, the harder and tighter and bigger that knot became.

Finally, frustrated, she slammed her glass down on the table, barely noticing as it cracked from the impact. Screw this. She was going to go to the gym. Maybe imagining Kylie's face on the punching bag would relieve some of Sam's anger.

She was paying her tab at the bar when she noticed a woman sitting at a booth in the far corner. She frowned. Looked familiar, though the large black eye the woman was trying so hard to hide in that dim corner made it hard to really see who she was. But as she turned to face the waitress walking by, her profile was revealed, and Sam recognized her.

Brandy Brewer. With a black eye.

Anger bubbled up in Sam's chest again, and she didn't even think as she walked straight over to the booth. "Didn't take my advice and kick Paul Carter to the curb, huh." _Stupid woman_.

"I…I…" Brandy stammered, clearly taken aback at Sam's presence in the bar. "He said…he was sorry…"

"They all say that. And they do it again. And then they apologize again. He is never going to stop until _you_ decide you've had enough!" Sam knew she was shouting, didn't care. Her anger had finally found an outlet, and a well-deserved one at that. Paul Carter was an asshole . And Brandy Brewer was being stupid.

"I know I should leave. I just…I don't know how," Brandy whispered, a tear tracking down her cheek. She reached up to wipe it away, and winced as she touched the bruise on her face. For some reason that made Sam angrier.

"Hey. Put those sunglasses back on, you want people to know our private business?" came a male voice from behind Sam. A familiar one. And she turned and saw Paul Carter striding up to the booth from the direction of the men's room.

"You mean, you don't want everyone knowing you can't control your temper." Sam turned to face him.

"I can control my temper until some dumb bitch does something stupid to piss me off." Paul Carter's voice was low, dangerous; out the corner of her eye, Sam saw Brandy Brewer hunch her shoulders a bit, as if fearful of being hit.

"Nice way to refer to your girlfriend." Sam felt adrenaline rush through her, clearing away the edge of the alcohol haze. She had a pretty high tolerance for alcohol, but she had drunk a lot that evening and she'd been feeling it creep up on her as she'd gotten up to leave. But that was gone now as she tensed, ready for a fight. She could smell alcohol on Paul Carter's breath, and if he was going to be so stupid as to take a swing at Sam Shaw…well, she wasn't going to hold back as John had. He needed to be taught a lesson, and she was perfectly happy to give it to him.

"Wasn't talking about Brandy. Least she's smart enough to know when she's pissed me off and smart enough to apologize." He braced Sam squarely. "Who the hell are you anyway?"

Seriously? He didn't recognize her from the last time she'd spoken to Brandy in front of Carter's work? But then again, he _had_ been a bit distracted by John pounding on him.

"I'm the dumb bitch who sees what you did to Brandy's face and I'm telling you to back off." It was the first, last, and only warning Sam was going to give him; he didn't even deserve that.

"Who's going to make me? You?" The sneer and the contempt in his tone was the last straw.

Sam's fist flashed out, caught him hard under the jaw. He grunted, then responded with a punch of his own. It was half-hearted at best, not delivered with weight or intent behind it, because he was obviously expecting her to simply be an annoyance, someone who would back down when he fought back. Sam ducked that punch easily, then followed with another, even harder, one of her own. This time her punch sent him reeling backward into another nearby table—fortunately, one that was not occupied.

He was furious when he got back up; she could see it in his eyes. Sense and logic were gone, replaced with the simple, single-track thinking of a mad dog; _get rid of the annoyance bothering him._ Yeah, well, he was going to find out it wasn't as easy getting rid of Sam as he might have thought.

He swung at her again, and she smiled in grim amusement as she ducked under his swing. Easy. Too easy. This time, as she came up under his arm, the momentum behind his swing having turned him almost completely around, she planted a foot on his backside and unbalanced him by the simple expedient of a swift kick to his ass. He stumbled forward, very satisfactorily, into a table that was occupied, and its occupants jumped back with exclamations of surprise and outrage as he flew across the top of the table and landed in a heap on the floor on the other side.

He climbed to his feet, and he was really mad now, face red. With a muted roar that she imagined would have come from a charging rhino, he rushed her again. This time she simply stepped out of the way, letting his momentum carry him forward—right into the brick of the bar's wall.

"This guy troubling you, Ma'am?" Came a solicitous voice at her elbow, and she turned…and looked up. A tall man, lean and wiry, with tattoos on his arms and a little gray at his temples and sprinkled through his iron-dark hair. Oddly enough, he looked somewhat like John—except, of course, for the tattoos. Maybe she should talk John into getting a tattoo? Or, even better, Finch…

"Nope, not at all. Just trying to teach him a lesson about not hitting women," Sam refocused on Paul, who was a little slower getting up than he had been formerly—and the red area on his forehead where he'd impacted the brick showed he was soon going to have a bruise there.

The tall man looked behind her, at Brandy Brewer, shrinking in her seat in the back of the bar booth; at Sam's alert-but-ready stance, and at Paul Carter turning to face Sam. "Ah. Well, in that case, have at it then." He gestured to Paul with a sardonic smile and a courteous bow, then stood back and folded his arms. "Just try to not break the tables. The glasses are so much easier to replace."

That startled a laugh out of her even as she wondered why he was letting the fight continue. "If I break any tables I'll pay to replace them, how's that?" she said as Paul lunged toward her again.

This time she didn't try to avoid him; she waded into the fray, taking an angry delight in feeling her knuckles impact his cheekbone, her knee jabbing into his abdomen, and—a finishing touch—she laid him out on the floor with a hard kick to the groin. The same kick she'd given Steve Wood. Carter howled in agony, curled up on the floor of the bar, sobbing, all the fight knocked out of him.

A smattering of applause caught her attention as she stood over him, panting; she looked up in surprise, saw the rest of the bar patrons clapping. The tall man smiled at her. "Daniel LeClaire, at your service," he said with a smile and a respectful tip of his head.

Paul Carter seemed disinclined to get up; Sam didn't care. The fight was clearly over, and she felt the adrenaline drain from her. All of a sudden all she wanted was to go home and fall into bed. "Send me the repair bill for whatever I've broken," she tossed over her shoulder as she left the bar.

She wasn't expecting to be followed; it was a surprise, therefore, when the tall man from the bar fell into step beside her just as she was heading for her car. "I promised to pay for the damage," she said tiredly, not turning around.

"It's okay. We'll cover it."

"'We'? Who's 'we"?" she stopped walking in surprise, turning to meet the amused eyes of her escort.

For answer, he pulled a set of dog tags from under his shirt. And engraved on one side of each tag, Sam read 'Guardian'. "Clayton?" she asked in surprise.

"He's my commanding officer. My name is Daniel LeClaire. Used to be Clayton's jungle recon expert." His smile was warm. "I know who that was in there, and who you are. I've also seen that woman come in before with interesting bruises and marks on her face. If you hadn't taught him a lesson today, I would have at some point in the near future. You just saved me the trouble. That's worth the bill Clayton's going to get for broken bar glasses. Fortunately you were nice enough not to break any tables." He winked at her, and vanished.

Bemused, she got into her car wondering at the strangeness of the world.

* * *

But although the anger was gone, the hard knot in her chest wasn't. And as she pulled her first-aid kit out of her bathroom cabinet that night and inspected her cut, scraped knuckles—bruised on Paul Carter's head—she found herself trying hard to swallow the knot, which seemed to have risen into her throat. As she finished cleaning and bandaging her fists and headed for her bedroom, she wished she'd thought to stop by the library and pick Bear up—she would have liked his company. Her loft seemed rather cold and lonely tonight, and when she turned out the light, the dark silence was deafening.

_I wonder what Lia's doing right now. Are her Aunt and Uncle fussing over her, taking care of her?_ She would have liked to imagine that, but thinking about the chill sterility of Lia's guardians' apartment, Sam knew that Lia would be just as alone as Sam herself was after her father had died. Lying in bed in the dark, swallowing back the tears, trying to 'be a brave girl' like everyone around her told her to be, suppressing her feelings and tamping them down further and further inside her until she could no longer feel anything except sarcasm, anger; until all that was left in her soul was a hard, jagged edge.

And at the thought, Sam closed her eyes and sent a payer into the darkness, to a God she didn't even really believe in but hoped was listening nonetheless. _No. Not like me. I never want her to be like me. Please, God, don't let it turn out this way for her._

Unknown to its owner, a single tear rolled from her eye, quickly absorbed by the pillow.


	28. Chapter 28: Hospital

**Chapter 28: Hospital**

_Author's note: Sorry about the single chapter update this week, folks. I started a new job this week, and between trying to adjust to a new schedule, learning new responsibilities and the increased transit time (I ride public transportation to work) from my last job, I haven't had as much time-or energy-to write as I did formerly. It should get easier, and I'll probably make up for it with a three chapter update at some point later. Thanks for your patience!_

"Stay with me, Lia, okay, sweetie?" Joss gripped Lia's hand as the ambulance started with a jerk, the sound of the sirens muted to the occupants in the back.

"Oh…kay…" but Lia sounded out of it, and Joss wondered how much the girl had swallowed. Couldn't have been much, the stuff tasted terrible and Lia would have noticed that after the first swallow and not drunk anymore, but there was still a lot of Ten Scope that could be packed into one swift shot. Joss still vividly remembered what the stuff had fone to John, a full-grown, adult male, weighting…what, just under two hundred pounds? She couldn't imagine what a dose of similar size would do to a slim seventeen year old girl who was probably half John's weight.

_But Sam said she got Lia to throw up the rest of what's in her stomach, so hopefully it won't hit her as hard. And she seems to be reacting differently to the drug than John did. With John, it just got rid of all his inhibitions. _She had to fight the blush the memory of that night caused. _But Lia's just going quiet and still. Lethargic. Sam said she thinks Lia might have had a mild anaphylactic attack in an allergic response to the Ten Scope._

"How's her blood oxygen?" she asked the EMT who was monitoring Lia's vital signs. "Back there…it looked for a moment like she had some trouble breathing and I wondered if she might have had a mild allergic reaction to the stuff she was dosed with. If she didn't get enough oxygen to her brain, would that be why she's so groggy?"

The EMT looked at one of the monitors above Lia's head. "Her blood oxygen saturation is a little low, but it's low normal. She was semi-responsive when we got there, and she seemed to respond to you and the cops, so I don't think she suffered permanent injury, but…you know, probably couldn't hurt to put her on oxygen…" Action followed thought, and shortly thereafter there was an oxygen tank pumping oxygen into Lia's nose. Joss took a peek at the blood oxygen screen, reassured to see the numbers start rising.

"That's good. Getting back to normal. She won't need it long, but it'll help get her blood oxygen up quicker." He looked sympathetically at Joss. "Are you her mother?"

_I wish I was. Or that her mother were here_. Joss shook her head. "She's my son's girlfriend."

"Oh? I thought mothers are supposed to hate their sons' girlfriends. My wife's mother hated me."

Joss grinned weakly. "I've never been good at doing what I'm 'supposed' to do. No, I do like her. She's kind of a misfit at school, kind of lonely, doesn't have many friends, and my son really likes her. I do too. She's a sweet girl." She pushed the tail of her jacket away from her hip, flashed her gold badge. "I'm also NYPD. Detective Jocelyn Carter."

"Kinda close to the investigation, aren't you?"

Joss shook her head. "Manhattan SVU is handling the case. My concern is Lia. She lives with her Aunt and Uncle, and I don't know their number off the top of my head, so until I contact them and let them know what happened, I'll be her proxy." And now a new worry intruded—what would her Aunt and Uncle say? How would they react? Thinking about the sterile, loveless environment of Lia's home, Joss was suddenly worried about Lia's recovery. _It doesn't look like she's been raped, but she's going to have a lot of emotional issues and I doubt her Aunt and Uncle are going to give her the support she needs. Damn it, Sam was right to get angry with us. She was the only one who saw the possible danger Lia was in and kept an eye on her._ Regret and guilt followed. _I'll apologize to her later. She has a right to be angry with us._

And John. Oh, John. For someone with a protective streak that ran straight to his bones, this must have been killing him. She had seen the look on his face when she and Lionel had first arrived on the scene—he'd been gripping Steve's face with a look that said that wasn't exactly the part of the boy he really wanted to be grabbing. _He's got to be home by now. I wonder what he's telling Taylor?_

"We're here," said the EMT, and she was jolted out of her musings by the feel of the ambulance backing into an ER ambulance bay. She shook her head slightly—Taylor and John would be fine, she'd handle it later, but right now she had to take care of Lia—the girl was her top priority now. Even if her Aunt and Uncle had been there, would they understand what was going on, what needed to be done? Lia had to get checked out, and a rape kit had to be done—although Joss only retained snippets of memory of her own rape kit after Walker had kidnapped her and taken her to the Catskills, those snippets were vivid in her mind, as was the memory of her emotions. Shame and humiliation as they'd taken pictures, a wish that John could have been there, offering her his strength to lean on, but conversely she'd been glad that he hadn't been there because it would have made her even more embarrassed.

But Lia seemed out of it as the EMTs took her gurney off the back of the ambulance and into the hospital, parking it into an empty ER cubicle that a harried-looking nurse indicated with a wave of a pen. Joss got a vague impression of an ER that didn't seem too busy, early on a Friday evening, though she knew from experience that that activity would increase the further they got into the evening. Hopefully LIa would be out of the ER by the time the alcohol-related injuries came in, either in a room being monitored for the night, or home with her Aunt and Uncle. Although she knew she should be hoping the girl could go home with her family, she wasn't sure that was a good thing. Maybe overnighting in the hospital would give her a chance to sort through her emotions and come to grips with what happened.

"Hey, honey, can you wake up and talk to us a bit?" the nurse shook Lia's arm gently, and although it seemed to take a lot of effort, Lia did open her eyes. Glazed, drugged, vaguely unfocused, but she seemed to understand, even on a very vague, basic level, what was being said to her and she tried to sit up in bed. Joss watched the girl closely, didn't see Lia wince or exhibit any pain reactions as she sat completely up, which she wouldn't have been able to do if she'd been raped. Joss was virtually certain the girl hadn't, and heaved a quiet sigh of relief.

The nurse locked eyes with her over the bed, and nodded at Joss, very slightly; she'd noticed the same thing, then. But her tone was warm and friendly as she spoke to Lia. "Can you tell me if anything hurts, honey?"

"My…wrists…ankles…" Joss knew Lia was going to have bruises there from being held down. "Um…my jaw…" She shook her head, tears in her eyes. "But I don't remember why. Why can't I remember?" She frowned, but it was an unsteady, uncertain frown. Joss knew Lia probably wasn't going to remember this conversation in the morning either—John hadn't remembered anything until all of the Ten Scope had worked its way out of his system. And again her heart ached with guilt and regret.

"Do you hurt anywhere else?" A pause, as Lia mentally catalogued her body, then a negative shake of her head.

And then Joss's phone buzzed with a message, and she looked down. It was from 'Unknown'—yeah, right, she knew who that was—and when she opened the message and actually read it her guess was confirmed. _The cellphone video starts with Lia completely clothed. They took her clothes off but never physically entered her._

"Can I talk to you a moment?" Joss said quietly to the nurse, and the nurse nodded. "Okay, I'm gonna step out here in the hall with your mother, okay? Let us know if you need anything." And she followed Joss out of the cubicle.

"I'm Detective Jocelyn Carter, NYPD Homicide," Joss flashed her badge to the nurse. "Not her mother, though. Lia is my son's girlfriend. Her parents are overseas, she lives here with her Aunt and Uncle. She ended up at an NYU frat house this afternoon around 5 pm and was tricked into drinking something that left her impaired. The girl who tricked her is a bully at school and she videotaped the whole thing on her cellphone, then broadcast it to phones of other kids going to the school."

The nurse made a face. "Despicable."

"I agree," Joss said fervently. "One of Lia's friends called for help and I got there at the same time Manhattan SVU did. They are going to want to prosecute this as an attempted sexual assault, but the good news is that through that video, we know for sure she wasn't raped. The frat boys were interrupted just in time."

"Thank goodness for small mercies. I'm going to go ahead and just let her sleep it off for now, we won't have to do a rape kit, but she will have to have photos of her injuries taken for the prosecution of the ones responsible.. You can't give permission for that, her guardians—her Aunt and Uncle-will have to sign for that. Are they being contacted?"

"We're working on it," Joss assured her, knowing that Finch most likely had the number and was just waiting for Joss to be alone before he gave it to her. "They should be here soon."

"Then I'll wait on that. For now, though, let's let her sleep, that's probably the best thing for her, poor thing. Let me know when they get here, okay?" Joss nodded and started to step back into the ER cubicle when the nurse said, "…oh, and, Detective?"

"Yes?" Joss paused.

"I hope you throw the book at the college boys who did this. We're seeing far too many of these cases these days, coming from one particular frat house at NYU."

Joss dug her card out of her pocket, handed it to the nurse. "Call me when we both have some free time, I think we should talk." The nurse nodded, pocketed the card, and headed for the next cubicle, and Joss turned back to Lia's…only to be interrupted as another voice called her name. "Joss?"

She turned to see who called her name…and smiled as Captain Benson came up to her. "Hi, Liv."

"Hey. Been a little while." Olivia gave her a quick hug and a warm smile, then got down to business. "The frat house is secured, and CSU is going over it as we speak. Lionel and Fin took Steve and Kylie to the station, where they're cooling their heels until their parents get there. A certain…mutual acquaintance…of ours texted me the number to Lia's Aunt and Uncle, and I was going to ask you—do you want to call them or do you want me to?"

Joss had no doubt who the 'mutual acquaintance' was. "I'll do it. Maybe it'll be better coming from someone they know—even though I don't think Lia's guardians like me—the last time John and I took Lia and Taylor to dinner Lia's Aunt asked me if Lia's virtue was at risk.." Benson hastily smothered a chuckle, "…but at least they know me." She took out her cellphone. "Okay, can you give me the number?"

The phone seemed to ring for an eternity before someone answered. "Yes?" came a male voice, finally, in heavily-accented English.

"Hi, I'm Detective Jocelyn Carter, I'm trying to reach Avi and Savita Muhtar, it's about their neice, Lia Riante."

A pause. Then, "I am Avi Muhtar. What has the child done now?"

Joss bristled at the hostility, but tried to keep her voice even. "Lia hasn't done anything wrong, Mr. Muhtar. She was tricked into drinking something that was laced with a date-rape drug. Fortunately one of Lia's friends found out and stopped it before it went too far, and called us. I'm at the hospital with Lia now, she's disoriented and groggy from the drug, but she's going to be okay." And then, remembering the emphasis on Lia's 'virtue', she added, "Lia wasn't raped. We got there in time to prevent that."

Silence. Then, "We will be there as soon as we can." And the line went dead.

Joss stared at her phone in disbelief. "What, no 'Is she all right' or 'thank you'?"

Very softly, Olivia said, "When John was released from the Guardians' clinic I told him that your complete recovery was going to depend on his being there for you and being committed to you. I told him if you didn't have his support you wouldn't recover fully. But based on what I'm seeing now, Lia won't have that. She's going to have a very difficult time recovering from this…if she recovers at all."

Joss stared at Olivia in consternation. "But they're her family. They're supposed to be there for her."

"Yes, they are. I guess we'll see."

* * *

But when Joss finally saw Lia's Aunt and Uncle nearly half an hour later, the little seed of doubt Olivia had planted grew into a certainty. They moved at an unhurried pace—even with Aunt Savi using crutches, they weren't moving very fast. Not as fast as she would have been moving if someone had told her Taylor was in the hospital after being drugged and assaulted.

But she tried not to let her doubts show on her face as Olivia stepped forward with a warm smile and extended a hand. "Mr. and Mrs. Muhtar?"

"We are here to pick Lia up." A flat statement.

Olivia and Joss shared a quick glance, then Liv said, "The doctors aren't quite done yet. We're still waiting for the blood tests to come back and Lia's pretty out of it. She was tricked into drinking something with a new date-rape drug in it and she had a mild allergic reaction. The doctors want to keep an eye on it, and her blood oxygen saturation, for an hour or so before they release her."

"She was supposed to be going with a girl friend of hers to look for a dress for this…school dance…she wanted to go to. We told her father not to give her permission to go but the fool let her. And now we find that instead she was with college boys partying at a frat house instead of where she was supposed to be." Avi Muhtar's lips were set in a thin, flat line. "She has only herself to blame for this. I would not waste any more time on her foolish stupidity if I were you."

"It wasn't Lia's fault." Joss realized her voice had a sharp edge to it, and tried to soften her tone. "She was tricked into this. No one ever told her not to drink something someone hands you at a party."

"A good Hindu girl does not end up in places where her virtue can be compromised. She listens to her elders and thus avoids situations like this. Lia is headstrong and rebellious and does not listen. So she is in a situation of her own making."

"It was not her fault, Mr. Muhtar. She was set up by a couple of kids at her school. Lia's a good girl, she does what you tell her to do, listens to what you say. She did go shopping this afternoon with another girl; it was this girl's fault that—"

"Excuse me?" came a voice at Joss's elbow, and they all turned to see the nurse Joss had spoken to earlier. "Lia's asleep now, and that's the best thing for her, so if you all could keep your voices down…"

"We are Lia's guardians. We are here to pick her up."

The nurse's face never lost her pleasant expression, but her tone acquired a very subtle edge. "The doctor wants to keep her overnight to make sure she has no further ill effects from the drug she was dosed with, so she will be released tomorrow morning. We can't let her go tonight. But if you'll sign this form, we can get photos of the bruises she sustained in the assault so that the police can prosecute the people involved."

"I will not give that permission. Lia made the choice to go there; she made the choice to drink; and she will have to deal with the consequences of that choice. I will waste no more time on her childish foolishness. I will be back tomorrow morning to pick her up. She has our number; she can call us when the doctor says she can go and I will come to pick her up and sign the papers. Good night." And with that, he and Lia's aunt turned and headed down the hall.

Joss blew out her breath as soon as they had rounded the corner and were out of earshot. "Whew." She looked soberly at Olivia. "I'm afraid you're right. I don't think she's going to get the emotional support she needs from them. Fortunately, though, they'll tell her parents, or she'll tell them, and she'll get what she needs from them even if they're in India."

"I hope so," Olivia sighed. "Fortunately, she wasn't physically raped—Sam got there before the boys started that—so although pictures of the bruising would help, they aren't necessary. I guess I'm sort of glad the doctors decided to keep her overnight, so she doesn't have to deal with this now."

"Actually the doctor didn't say anything about that," the nurse broke in. "I haven't even talked to the doctor yet. I saw the way those two were acting and I realized going home right now isn't the best thing for her. If I tell the doctor I'm worried about her blood oxygen saturation, I can have a counselor talk to her when he gets in first thing tomorrow before she goes home. It'll help."

Olivia looked at the nurse gratefully. "Thank you. I really appreciate that."

"As long as you're investigating this. We're the closest hospital to NYU and we've been seeing a lot of these cases lately where girls are coming in drugged from that frat house on the NYU campus. They never remember anything afterwards either, but they're all so ashamed of what happened, they think it's their fault, and they refuse to talk."

"Young girls? There have been others?" Olivia said sharply.

"Yes."

"How many?"

The nurse thought for moment. "Maybe ten or twelve since August last year—the the beginning of the academic year."

"And they all came from this frat house?"

"Pretty much all of them said the last thing they remember was being at the Phi Alpha frat house on the NYU campus. But four of them were too young to be at a frat house—they were juniors and seniors in high school."

Joss blinked, then looked at Olivia. "What do you wanna bet Kylie Whistler and Steve Wood are in this up to their necks?"

Olivia smiled grimly. "I believe it's time we had a talk with them."


	29. Chapter 29: Opening

**Chapter 29: Opening**

_Author's Note: The next couple of chapters are going to come kind of slow-I did a lot of research on counterintelligence tactics and training back when I wrote SERE, the novel where I introduced Cam Arlington, that was-gosh, can't believe it was about three years ago. But I had to dig all of that research out, pull out all of the counterintelligence manuals I found, dust it all off and reread all of it so I could write Warrant Officer Carter believably. Thanks for your patience!_

"I don't haveta talk to you. I got rights. All I gotta do is wait for my Dad."

Lionel traded glances with Fin Tutuola. The other man had the same frustration in his eyes that Lionel knew was in his. Since they'd gotten Steve Wood here to the SVU's interrogation room at the One-Six, Steve had been stubbornly refusing to talk to them. Or rather, he'd been talking but it had basically been repeated requests for his father. Based on the boy's arrogant attitude and disregard for the consequences of what he'd done, the two men weren't expecting much cooperation from Mr. Wood. Although there had been a few parent-child combinations over the years who'd surprised the detectives, those 'exceptions' basically just enforced the 'rule' that you only had to see the son in order to know what the father was like.

Lionel rose from the table. "Come on, Fin. Let's let him stew. Benson and Carter are on their way back from the hospital now; I'll bet Carter can get what we need out of him. After all, her son is Lia's boyfriend, and I know she likes the girl. And with her military skills…he'll be singin' like a bird by the time she's done with him."

"Uh…military?" Steve's façade cracked a little.

"Oh, you didn't know?' Lionel said with mock casualnesss. "Oh, Fin, he didn't know."

Fin looked at Steve with an unpleasant smile on his face. "Yep, that's right, he doesn't know. That's okay. This poor fool will never know what hit him."

"You—you're just trying to scare me." Steve leaned back in his chair with a grin.

Lionel leaned forward, hands flat on the table. "Detective Carter is ex-Army. You know what she did while she was in? She was a military interrogator. Did a tour in Iraq, has a Purple Heart to show for it." He leaned in, dropped his voice to a stage whisper. "I've seen what she does to guys in the interrogation room. It's not pretty. They never knew what hit them." He straightened up, and his voice returned to its normal tone. "I tell you, you'd be a heck of a lot better off talkin' to Fin and me than her, but hey, if you wanna play hardball…no one plays hardball like Joss Carter."

"We're guys. We understand when we get them sudden urges, you know, you gotta relieve it somehow," Fin said laconically, standing up from his chair. "Women, they don't understand this guy stuff. But hey, if you wanna go ahead and face Joss Carter in the interrogation room, you go right on ahead. At least it'll be entertaining." He and Lionel left without further words, although as they exited they saw the unsure look on Steve Wood's face in the one-way interrogation room mirror.

Kylie Whistler was sitting sullenly in her chair staring at the floor when Lionel and Fin came in. Wordlessly, Lionel handed her an ice pack wrapped in a towel; she took it, similarly wordlessly, and held it gingerly against the dusky bruise standing out against the fair porcelain of her cheek. Under the harsh lighting in the interrogation room, she looked washed-out and pale; the only color was the dark-brown roots of her hair under the bottle-blond curls.

"Are my parents here yet?" She finally asked when a few minutes had gone by with no conversation. Fin and Lionel exchanged grins. It was an old trick, let an uncomfortable silence drag on for too long, and inevitably the suspect would be the first to break the silence.

Fin spoke first. "Not yet. We're still tryin' to reach them. But my Captain, Olivia Benson, is on her way back from the hospital with Detective Carter after making sure Lia was okay, and they'll be here momentarily. We're just waiting for them."

Lionel added, "Your boyfriend Steve decided he'd rather wait and talk to Detective Carter instead of us. That's okay." He leaned back in his chair. "Told him he'd be better off facing us than a pissed off Joss Carter, but he decided he'd rather get worked over by a military interrogator than us, so if that's his choice…" he shrugged. "Lia is Taylor's girlfriend. Joss really likes her. So Steve's gonna have a heck of a time explaining to her why he did what he did."

"Yeah, but she'll get the truth out of him," Fin leaned back in his chair. "She might be out of the service but that doesn't mean she's lost her interrogatin' skills."

"Interrogation?" The look on Kylie's face said she wasn't quite sure she believed the two men or not.

Lionel grinned nastily. "She used to be known as Warrant Officer Joss Carter, Military Intelligence Specialist. Might just be Detective Joss Carter now, but she hasn't lost those skills that earned her a Purple Heart. No one can get a confession like she can. It's a pleasure watching her work."

Fin's phone buzzed, and he looked down. "Benson and Carter are done at the hospital. They say they'll be here in a few. Come on. Let's leave these two to Joss when she and Benson come in." They pretended not to notice Kylie's suddenly nervous look as they left the room.

"Are Steve and Kylie still here?" were the first words out of Benson's mouth as she and Joss entered the SVU squadroom at the One Six.

"Yep. Had a little trouble reaching their parents. Kylie's mom's voicemail was full and we ended up just leaving a message on Steve's parents' phone. They'll be on their way when they get the message. In the meantime," Fin's grin grew faintly malicious as he turned to Joss. "Dropped some hints 'bout you havin' been in the service as a military interrogator. They didn't look so sure of themselves then."

"So we're going to try the good-cop-bad-cop routine." Benson nodded.

Joss's grim smile didn't bode well for Steve and Kylie. "I'll be happy to play the bad cop." She turned to Fin. "But first I wanna see the video."

"I got it off the phone and into a computer as video evidence," Amanda Rollins piped in now, standing from where she sat at her computer. "Come and take a look…but I warn you, it's pretty ugly."

Benson, Fin, Joss, and Lionel walked over to Amanda's computer, stood behind her as she cued up the downloaded cellphone video. At first it swung wildly, unfocused, as Kylie apparently tried to get it working, then the picture steadied and cleared.

And the first thing they saw clearly was Lia, clearly incapable of coordinating movement, clearly incapacitated, lying barely conscious on the front lawn of the frat house. "Give me her dress and her backpack and just get out of here. You did your part. Thanks. Glad to see your loyalty to me still holds." There was a slight pause; the look on Trinity Cross's face was one of indecision, conflict, as she looked at Lia lying unconscious on the grass; then she shrugged, grabbed Lia's backpack and prom dress out of the front passenger side of her car, and put them down on the curb. Then she got in and pulled away.

"Do we know who that is?" Benson said quietly as they watched this bit of video.

"Girl at Taylor and Lia's school named Trinity Cross. She's been getting closer to Lia these past couple months since the Valentine's dance—that's another story for another time—and Lia just asked Taylor if I would mind if she went shopping for a dress for junior prom with her new 'friend' Trinity instead of with me." Very softly, Joss finished, "If I'd known that Kylie told Trinity to make friends with Lia just to set her up, I would have insisted on taking her like we agreed."

"There was no way you could have known this was going to happen," Benson said reasonably.

"Known? No. But guessed, maybe...Sam saw Lia's danger. She's been trying to make friends with Lia, even following us one night when John and I were Taking Taylor and Lia to an Italian restaurant to teach them polite table manners in a fine dining setting."

Lionel choked. "Wait a minute. _Wonderboy_ is teaching _Taylor_ table manners? Does he even _have_ any?"

Joss swatted him, her mood lightening momentarily. "Stop. John has very good table manners. Impeccable manners for just about any setting. We ran into Paul—my ex—a couple months ago escorting his new girlfriend to a formal business mixer and John pointed out that Paul didn't know how to act or behave and he was embarrassing his new girlfriend. Said he didn't want Taylor to feel like he was embarrassing his girlfriends so he wanted to teach Taylor how to behave in polite society. Said there are just some things he needs to learn from a man."

Olivia smiled. "So...you're going to invite us to the wedding, right?"

Joss flushed. "There isn't going to be a wedding."

"You don't love him? He doesn't love you? Coulda fooled me." Fin was grinning at Joss, who just flushed a deeper pink.

"It's not that. It's..." she tried to find words, failed. "It's complicated. His life isn't his own to do with as he pleases, and that kind of renders the whole question of whether we love each other that much sort of moot." She switched topics. "We're going to need to have a talk with Trinity Cross, too. She looks sort of reluctant there, for just a moment; if there is some sort of conspiracy going on to put Lia in danger, she might be the weakest link there." She refocused on the video.

Steve, in the meantime, had grabbed one of Lia's arms. Kylie grabbed the other, still keeping the camera aimed at Lia, and they both dragged her over the grass into the house. As soon as the frat boys present there saw Lia on the floor, they cheered.

"Sick freaks," Fin snarled.

Joss nodded agreement but kept watching. Two guys stepped up to look at Lia, one bending over her and unbuttoning her shirt. Lionel made an inarticulate sound of disgust as they took her blouse off, unzipped her jeans, and then Steve held Lia's arms while these two guys wrestled her jeans off.

"Nice figure," one said approvingly. "Is she a virgin?"

"Probably. She never goes anywhere or does anything, so yeah, she's probably never been with a guy before." Then, "I know the routine. Setup, blackmail, then farm her out. Steve, take her upstairs and break her in."

Steve came forward, grabbed Lia's wrists; another young man in a purple letter jacket, who looked so much like Steve he had to be Steve's older brother, grabbed Lia's ankles; with her literally hanging in the air between them, they carried her up the stairs, Kylie following with the camera still aimed at Lia's unconscious figure.

Up the stairs, then top the first door on the right, into the room that Sam had found Lia in. They dropped her on the bed, and then Kylie ordered Steve to take off her panties. Lia seemed to wake up a little, then, as he tore her panties off, leaving her nude; she thrashed a little, flailed. Steve's brother grabbed her ankles, pinning them down to the bed as Steve grabbed her arms. Kylie apparently put the phone down on a nightable or some flat surface by the bed, because the next thing they saw was her bending over Lia. "Come on, be a good girl and drink this. Just a little more so I can make sure you don't remember this when you wake up." She grabbed Lia's chin and tried to force Lia's mouth open, to pour another small cup of what looked like punch but that Joss suspected was more of the Ten Scope-laced drink.

Lia was choking, yanking frantically against the hands that held her, almost convulsing. Struggling to breathe. Her eyes were glazed and unfocused but even on a low-quality cellphone video Joss could see dull panic in her unseeing eyes. "Sam was right," she breathed. "Anaphylaxis. She had an allergic reaction to the drug and they didn't understand what they were seeing—or they ignored it." She sucked in a harsh breath.

Lia's struggling was making it hard for Kylie to aim the Ten Scope into her mouth; frustrated, she snapped at Steve, "Hold her still, will you?"

"Trying," Steve muttered. "Not easy. She's pretty strong for such a nerd."

Kylie pulled her hand back and slapped Lia hard. Lia froze in her struggles momentarily, giving Kylie enough time to pour the rest of the Ten Scope into her mouth, then toss aside the cup and clamp her hand over Lia's mouth, preventing Lia from spitting the stuff out; then she pinched Lia's nose closed with her other hand until the girl was forced to swallow. She released Lia's nose, but kept her hand over the girl's mouth even as Lia went through another round of struggling and trying to breathe.

"Twice. They made her drink the stuff twice. She had an allergic reaction to that damn drug twice and they didn't care." Joss spun on her heel and marched off toward the interrogation rooms.

The closest room to her held Steve Wood. And at the sight of him, slouched insouciantly in his chair with his head resting on folded arms atop the table, apparently napping, infuriated Joss. He was sitting here cozy and comfortable while Lia lay in the hospital connected to tube and monitors, and when she finally went home...Joss was under no illusions that Lia's aunt and Uncle would have any sympathy whatsoever—their attitude when they'd found out what happened to her was pretty telling.

She knew the fury was showing on her face, and she didn't care, as she crossed the interrogation room in two quick steps, grabbed the back of the chair behind Steve Wood before he even really processed she was there, and yanked it out from under him, dumping him on the floor. "Get up," she snarled at him as she shoved the chair behind her, toward the back corner of the room, out of Steve's reach. "Get up. You don't deserve to be comfortable. _Get up_."

Steve blinked stupidly at her. He had been taking a nap. Her fury sharpened her voice as she said again, in that flat, hard tone that had made radical insurgents quail before Warrant Officer Joss Carter, "_**Get. Up**_."

He climbed to his feet, but now there was fear in his eyes. Good. Step one of an interrogation was done—the opening. _The successful interrogator exercises the powers of an all-powerful parent, determining when the source will be sent to bed, when and what he will eat, whether he will be rewarded for good behavior or punished for being bad. The interrogator can and does make the subject's world not only unlike the world to which he has been accustomed but also strange in and of itself. He can shift the environment abruptly. The interrogator also chooses the emotional key or keys in which the interrogation or any part of it will be played._

She remembered the words from her counterintelligence interrogation training manual even as Steve climbed to his feet. And now he was showing the signs that she also remembered from her training, training that had become second nature to her, that had simply sharpened her own natural tendencies of observation—those same tendencies that had led the Army to recruit her into their highly-classified Human Resource Exploitation unit. _A cold sweat is a strong sign of fear or shock. A pale face indicates fear and usually shows that the interrogator is hitting close to the mark. Emotional strain or tension may cause n increased pumping of the heart which becomes visible in the pulse and throat_. In Steve, it was particularly noticeable—she'd seen his nervousness and fear when John had been holding the boy's chin back at the frat house; the boy's artery had been visibly pulsing. She'd keep an eye on that artery as she was questioning him—it would be particularly useful. And she'd let Olivia know to keep an eye on that artery too.

So. _Shift the environment_—which she'd done, albeit in a dramatic fashion, by yanking the chair out from under him. Now to establish the 'all-powerful parent' character, with an order he couldn't disobey; get up. And to her satisfaction, he was doing so. Not that much of a difference between a spoiled child and the radicals she'd learned and sharpened these interrogation tools from. And from watching the video, where he'd been following Kylie's orders, she was pretty sure she had his 'type' pegged; he was the greedy, demanding subject outlined in her counterintelligence training manual, dependent and passive, counting on someone else to give him orders, tell him what to do, or defend him—hence his repeated demands for his father. For subjects with his type of personality, becoming and understanding, sympathetic figure was the best way to gain his confidence in order to persuade him that Kylie had made the entire incident seem like his idea, this hanging him out to take the fall for what Joss was sure, from having seen the video, was almost entirely Kylie's scheme. Steve was just too passive, too much of a follower, to come up with this on his own.

But that was going to be Benson's job. And Joss knew Liv was perfectly capable of doing this; she'd seen the other woman in interrogations before, and also knew that Liv had gotten some tips from Clayton, since she employed many of the same techniques that Joss herself had used. Different women, different settings, same purpose. _She might have made a kick-ass intelligence analyst if she'd gone into the military_, came the stray thought, then Joss refocused on the boy in front of her, who was now on his feet. If she was going to set Liv up as the understanding, sympathetic character, then she'd have to present herself as the exact opposite; hard, uncaring, unwilling to hear Steve's explanation of his own actions—not that Joss really wanted to, either; there was no way to explain away what he'd done, no excuse he could rattle off that would make what he (and Kylie) had done any less reprehensible. "Mind telling me what you thought you were doing?" she hissed, letting her anger show on her face. A pause; now a nervous subject would try to fill in that uncomfortable pause. And then, true to her assessment of his subject type, Steve opened his mouth to talk.

She cut him off. "Never mind. Nothing you can say that would make any difference at all. Whatever your reasons were for doing this, it's not an excuse." Then, as he opened his mouth again, she read the protest in his eyes and snapped, "Save it. Kylie told us everything. How you manipulated her into setting Lia up just so you could satisfy your own desires." Come to think of it, Fin might be a better one to involve as the sympathetic character; the simple fact that he was male might establish a connective rapport...

And as if her thoughts had been read, Fin came into the interrogation room. "Cool it, Joss. He's a boy, he's still very young and he didn't know what he was doing. Why don't you go take a walk and cool off." She saw Steve's relieved look, smiled inwardly. Yes, Fin was perfect.

"Sure he knew what he was doing," she snapped at Fin, but that was her cue to exit, and she stormed out of the interrogation room.


	30. Chapter 30: Interrogation

**Chapter 30: Interrogation**

"That went well," Benson observed as Joss closed the interrogation room door behind her and joined the SVU Captain at the one- way observation window.

Joss grinned. "If I didn't know better, I'd almost swear you had military COINTEL training yourself—you and your unit. Lionel and Fin set that up perfectly." She gestured inside the room, where Steve was now leaning forward in his chair, talking to Fin. "That's textbook handling of a joint interrogation for a subject of that type. One interrogator takes on the role of a hostile, the other becomes a sympathetic figure."

Olivia nodded. "Fin and I talked about it when you went in and yanked the chair out from under him. Fin made a comment earlier to Steve about understanding that men just have urges and needed release once in a while—setting Steve up for a 'confession' where the boy can say that he was just following his 'natural' urges and wasn't really paying attention to Lia."

"Not that he could actually get away with that excuse in a courtroom, but at least he'll confess to getting on top of her while she was unconscious or incapacitated. That's pretty much all we need from him. Again, almost like you had COINTEL training."

Olivia chuckled. "No, we haven't. I got some tips and tricks from a member of Clayton's former unit—one of Clayton's former subordinates was an Army Human Intelligence Analyst—she lives out on the West Coast now, with her husband, they have a cabin in the Sierra Nevada mountains—with their twins, Evan and Erin." She looked at Joss, smiling. "You should meet her...both of them, actually... sometime, you and John. I think you all would like each other."

"I'd like to, someday. But for now..." she and Olivia drifted over to the next interrogation room, where Kylie was sitting calmly in her chair, picking at the flaking nail polish on her fingernails, disregarding the sparkly pink flakes that fell on the floor. "It's only a matter of time before Kylie's parents come to get her, so we should move fast. Her camera was still taking video when Sam burst in, so I have no doubt that the other kids she sent the video to would have erased their phones by now, but fortunately Sam thought to give Fin the cellphone she took from whoever the kid was that was watching it, so we have the video and it's been submitted into evidence already."

"What we need to know is 'why'," Joss said reflectively. "Something she said in that video's bugging me. 'I know the routine' she said, like she'd done this before. And she stated the eventual plan for Lia was to 'farm her out', whatever that meant. And those two other guys, the one who asked if she was a virgin..."

"That caught my attention too," Olivia admitted. "They weren't in college, and they were too old to be in high school. And they way they looked at her was so impersonal, like they were inspecting merchandise before buying."

"Yes. And the nurse at the hospital said that as the hospital closest to the NYU campus, they'd been seeing a lot of girls come in drunk and drugged and they were specifically connected to that particular NYU frat house."

"I'm going to sent Amanda and Fin out to the NYU campus security office tomorrow, ostensibly to get whatever security camera footage that might exist of the outside of that frat house, but I'm also going to let them know what the nurse said and see if they can get any independent confirmation of this. And Amaro and I will probably go talk to that nurse, and if possible we'll see if we can talk to Trinity Cross also. She'd probably be the best one to tell us what really happened, how Lia ended up at the frat house when she was supposed to be dress shopping with her."

But Joss wasn't really paying attention to Olivia; her mind was already racing down another track. "There was something else..." Joss bit her lower lip. "John and Sam and I took Taylor to a basketball court not that long ago for a game of guys-on-girls and Taylor mentioned that one of the girls at school just had a baby. He said her name was Christine. She used to be part of Kylie's group, until she got pregnant, and she never told any of the kids at school who the father was—Taylor said he thought maybe she didn't know. And then you add in the nurse's comment about this being an epidemic coming out of that frat house at NYU—what if Kylie did the same thing to Christine that she did to Lia?"

"It sounds likely," Olivia admitted. "If we can figure out who Christine is and where she lives we may want to interview her too if we find she's tied into the partying at the frat house. But until then, we still have to talk to Kylie. And somehow my gut is telling me she's not going to be cooperative—not as cooperative as Steve's likely to be."

"No, she's not." Joss could read it in Kylie's body language. "She's nervous, fidgeting and picking at her nail polish—damn, your maintenance people are gonna be swearing at all that sparkly pink polish on the floor—but she's not showing the signs of fear or shock that Steve was. And I really don't know enough about her to pin down her 'type'. So let's try a two-sympathetic-figure approach. We both act like we're sympathetic, but I'm going to make it clear that my 'sympathy' is a front, a way to trap her. I'll interrupt with abrupt questions, you let her ramble on at her own pace, and then finally you send me out of the room, making you appear to be her friend and the one most interested in giving her a fair shake. I do need to get home to my boys, I need to talk to Taylor." She turned behind her, to where Amanda Rollins was coming up behind the two of them. "Do you think you can get me still shots of the two men who asked if Lia was a virgin? I need to ask Taylor if he recognizes them or has seen them before. If he identifies them as Kylie or Steve's associates, then we can do a database search on them and find out if they have prior records—and what they're doing associating with high school kids."

"I can do that. Want me to send them to your phone? Let me have your phone number." Joss quickly handed the younger blond woman her card, and Amanda headed for her desk.

"Okay. Let's do this." Olivia opened the door for Joss, who walked in first; then she followed.

* * *

Joss took her seat first, but didn't speak; instead, she just looked at Kylie. Sometimes the staring trick was pretty effective; she'd used it against Robinson, at Elias's safehouse, when trying to get him to tell her where Walker and Simmons had taken John. Olivia, apparently seeing this, took her time about getting herself seated and comfortable before she started the conversation. "So your name is Kylie. And you go to school with Lia?" Joss knew that was a question to which both she and Olivia already knew the answer, and Kylie knew they knew the answer; the girl would answer with the truth, and thus they could establish a baseline. Knowing how someone reacted when they told the truth would help an interrogator recognize a lie.

"Yeah." Kylie was sitting with one leg crossed over the other; perfect, because her leg would lift slightly with every heartbeat and thus they should be able to read her pulse—it was a basic concept taught in Joss's kinesic interrogation class.

And this was Joss's cue to start the 'false sympathy' setup. "You ready for school to be over? Taylor's just counting down the days till summer vacation starts. I'm going to send him to some friends upstate who have a summer camp in the mountains, get him out of the city for a while. You got any plans for the summer?"

There was wariness in Kylie's eyes; not fear, but definite wariness. Fin and Lionel had done a heck of a job setting both Kylie and Steve up for her interrogation; this was almost too easy. Kylie was so wary of Joss that she'd completely lost track of her own body language; there was no way she could hide a lie from Joss. Or, for that matter, Olivia.

"Hang around the house. Hang out with friends. Just stuff." A dismissive shrug; after a couple seconds trying to decide if there was going to be any harmful consequences to answering this question, Kylie apparently decided it was harmless enough. And there was a subtle shift in her body language; some of the tension left her shoulders as she looked squarely at Joss. Joss could well imagine what the girl was thinking now, it was plain in her eyes. _This is what they told me I should be afraid of? I can beat this, no problem._

_Sure. You go right ahead and think that_, Joss thought to herself. She stayed quiet as Olivia asked a few more seemingly innocuous questions; name, birthdate, age. "Is there anyone else we can call to come pick you up? I'm sure you're tired of waiting here. We tried the phone number you gave us as your Mom's phone number, and just got a message saying the voicemail was full. She didn't answer."

Kylie rolled her eyes. "Of course she didn't. She's not my Mom, no matter what Dad says."

"What do you mean, she's not your Mom?" Olivia said coaingly.

"My Mom died when I was really little, in a car accident. Dad married this other woman, but she doesn't treat me the way a mother should. And Dad refuses to see she hates me and get rid of her. She has all these rules, and she grounds me or takes away my stuff—my TV, my video games, my laptop—when I 'misbehave'." Kylie mimed quotation marks around the word. "She treats me like every other kid and she doesn't understand that I need special handling because my real Mom died when I was really little. I tried telling Dad to tell her that she should be more understanding but she doesn't listen to him. She says I'm still a kid and she'll treat me like every other kid in the world." A hint of petulance. "I've been trying to talk my Dad into giving up his job in the Air Force so he can stay home with me and that woman who calls herself my mom, just so he can see for himself that she doesn't treat me like I'm special, she treats me like I'm normal, but he doesn't listen to me either." She pouted.

And there it was. Kylie's 'type'. _The exception believes the world owes him a great deal. He feels that he has suffered a gross injustice, usually from an event early on in life, which should be repaid. Feeling that these misfortunes were undeserved, the exception regard them as injustices that someone or something must rectify. Therefore they claim as their right privileges that are not given to others. When these are denied, they become rebellious, as adolescents do. They are convinced the justice of their claim is plain for everyone to see and that any refusal to grant it is due to willful malignance_. That was what Joss's training manuals had said and that was everything Joss was seeing in Kylie right now.

_The best way to handle those who believe they are exceptions is to listen attentively to their grievances and make no commitments that cannot be discharged fully. They are likely to make demands that are completely out of proportion to the value of their information. An ambiguous, non-promissory reply to such demands will be interpreted by the exception as acquiescence. They can be particularly responsive to suggestions that they have been treated unfairly by their associates or superiors. They have no sense of loyalty and given the impression that they have been ill-used by their associates, will turn on them readily._

So. Time to turn on the entrapment routine. "So when did you tell Trinity Cross to bring Lia to the frat house?" Joss cut into Kylie's rambling monologue abruptly.

Taken aback by the sudden question, Kylie responded automatically. "Monday," she blurted abruptly, then flushed as she realied what she'd said. "I mean, I spoke to Trinity Monday about coming to the frat house party with me and she said she was taking Lia dress shopping instead." She regarded Joss with sudden suspicion.

"Joss, I'm handling this, okay? Calm down. This isn't a military operation. She's a young girl, not a hardened criminal." True to the interrogation plan they'd devised, Olivia was sticking firmly to the sympathetic figure role.

"So you didn't specifically tell Trinity to bring Lia to the frat house so you two could set her up? So how did she end up there, then? She's not the type to go partying and drinking."

"I didn't tell Trinity to take Lia there. I have no idea where you got that idea but I assure you it isn't true." A lie. Kylie's pulse had accelerated, making her leg lift almost imperceptibly from where it was crossed over her other one. If Joss hadn't been looking for it, she might have missed it; Kylie was practiced at lying. _Probably considers herself a good liar, but her b__ody gives her away. She hasn't gotten old enough and skilled enough to beat those kinesic indicators that interrogators look for during an interrogation. Good. _And Kylie was rushing on. "The last couple of weeks she's been getting rebellious, irritated with her Aunt and Uncle's restrictions. She's been telling them she's staying after school for tutoring, but she's been getting on the bus and going to Taylor's basketball games to watch him play if they're going to be back in time for her to walk home with Summer Winter and her friends. She's been lying to her aunt and Uncle and sneaking out to where she's neither wanted or invited, so it was only inevitable that eventually she was going to get in trouble."

"You knew the punch was spiked with drugs, did you even think to warn her?" Joss sharpened her tone. "I figure you're used to it but I'll bet you didn't even think to warn her." Best not to mention that they did have the video; Joss was sure that someone at the frat house would have spread the word by now that Steve and Kylie had been arrested at the scene, caught in the act, and everyone who might have been stupid enough to save the video as it had been sent to their phones would have erased them or deleted them by now. And it was always best, in an interrogation, not to let the suspect know just how much you knew about what had actually happened. Let Kylie try to lie her way out of this; they could confront her later with the video and prove to her that she'd lied with the audio recording of this interrogation session. She'd be more likely then to come clean with her entire involvement with the goings-on at the frat house in exchange for a plea deal.

"Joss, that may be what Steve said but I'm sure that isn't what Kylie intended to have happen." If Joss wasn't absolutely sure that Olivia was playing the roles outlined in their interrogation plan she would have thought the other woman was sincere—she sure sounded sincere.

"Don't give me that," Joss got up abruptly, shoving her chair back and starting to prowl the perimeter of the room, circling Kylie like a shark circling prey. An old tactic, but one that could be quite effective in a joint interrogation scenario where one interrogator was hostile; it forced the suspect to divide their attention between the sympathetic and the antipathetic interrogator. If Olivia had been successful at making herself the sympathetic figure, Kylie would make a decision soon and…_there. Yes, she's tuned Olivia out entirely and focused on me as the threat, and Olivia's definitely picked up on that. Just how much did she learn from Clayton's Intelligence Analyst unit member?_ "She knew what she was doing. She's in this up to her pretty little neck. She's probably the mastermind behind the whole thing." Not exactly a lie—Joss was now positive that Kylie really was involved, to a greater degree than she'd first thought. Her initial supposition had been that the college boys, or those two older guys that Kylie had spoken to on the cellphone video, were orchestrating the assaults on the girls, but now she wasn't quite sure. They really needed to do an in-depth investigation.

"But you haven't even given her a chance to explain herself, explain what she was doing in the frat house. You can't make judgments about people until they have a chance to explain their side."

"I don't need her side. I already know she's guilty." Joss loaded her voice with contempt and disgust, both only partially feigned.

Olivia turned to face her, tuning Kylie out completely; Joss saw Kylie relax and watch the interplay between the two adults, with a look of sly calculation in her eyes. She was doing exactly what Joss and Olivia had wanted her to do—looking at the 'conflict' between the two adults and figuring out who was most likely to give her the attention she wanted. "Joss, I know you liked Lia, and she's Taylor's girlfriend. I think maybe you're a bit too close to the case and you can't look at it objectively. Why don't you go on home for the evening, let Taylor know what happened before he finds out in school on Monday, and I'll call you if I need you." Olivia's tone clearly said she didn't think she was going to need to call Joss.

"I have a right to be here." Joss put a hint of petulance in her tone; Kylie relaxed a little more. Good. She'd completely bought into the scenario Joss and Olivia were setting up. Now time for Joss to leave and for Olivia's real interrogation to begin.

"I think you're too close to the case to be completely objective and you need to step away. I'll call you if I need you."

Joss let anger show on her face for just a moment, just long enough for Kylie to see it; then she snapped out, "Fine, _Captain_ Benson." And she spun on her heel and left the room, letting the door close noisily behind her. Not quite a slam, but just enough noise to make it clear how she felt about her expulsion from the interrogation room.

Outside, Rollins and Amaro were watching through the one-way window. "Good job," Amaro said approvingly. "Textbook interrogation, and she fell right for it. She'll be singing like a bird for Olivia by the time her parents come for her."

"Well, let's hope she's truthful and we can get to the bottom of this soon," Joss sighed. "I'm heading home to talk to Taylor and John. Did you get those still shots I was asking for?"

"All ready to send to your phone. I didn't want to send it to you while you were in the interrogation room, didn't know if it would fit into your script for Kylie's interrogation. I'll send it now, if you want; you should have it by the time you get home."

"All right." Joss felt her shoulders slump; suddenly drained and tired, she scrubbed her hands over her eyes. "Is Lionel still here?"

"Right here, partner," Lionel came up behind her. "Ready to go when you are."

"I'm ready," Joss sighed. They'd been working second shift, eight-to-four, today, and it was well past four now—going on to nearly ten pm now. She couldn't wait to get home. "Let's go."


	31. Chapter 31: Engagement

**Chapter 31: Engagement**

She pulled up outside her apartment. Through the front window, she could see all the lights were off; Taylor was probably asleep by now, and John—she never knew if he was going to be in or not. The Machine would give them numbers whenever, and John would run out there whenever. So she had a moment…

She leaned back in her seat and heaved a gusty sigh—and only now let her own reactions go.

When she'd first seen Lia unconscious on the bed, covered only by Sam's jacket and a thin sheet, the rest of the girl's clothes missing, Joss had a flashback to her own assault by Walker. It had taken all of her training to push down her reaction to that flashback and not fall apart right there; she'd forced herself to focus on Lia and what she needed, and the need to secure the scene and Kylie and Steve in order to continue to function; but now that the emergency was over and she was alone, she could give herself the luxury of dealing with her own feelings.

Lia's ordeal hadn't been as physically traumatic as Joss's own, but it was going to have more emotional repercussions than Joss's own assault had. Although Joss still didn't know how Lia had ended up at the frat house, other than that Trinity had brought her there, and she didn't know how Lia had ended up drinking that first dose of Ten Scope, she did know that this betrayal was going to come hard; Lia was so sheltered, so naïve, that the feelings of shock and betrayal were going to be heightened, magnified.

She grabbed her purse, climbed out of her car, but she was shaking as she turned to close the door and she paused for a moment, leaning against the car door, willing her hands to stop trembling. She didn't want to go in looking like this, God only knew what Taylor would think; and John, if he were home…

"Taylor's in bed," came a voice at her elbow, and she jumped in panic and terror at the sudden presence behind her before the rational, logical part of her mind processed that it was John who was speaking and she was in no danger. But that sudden rush of adrenaline, of panic, didn't help her shaking any. She clenched her fists, tried to get herself back under control…

Then strong arms wrapped around her, and she could feel his love and caring and strength in the tight hug. "It's okay, Joss," came his murmured whisper in her ear. "It's okay, you don't always have to be so strong. Let go…" And she relaxed against him, giving herself the luxury of leaning on his strength, just for a moment, until her heart rate returned to normal. He didn't say anything else; he didn't have to, and she was grateful for his support until she could finally control herself again. "Sorry…"

He looked at her, and she fell in love all over again at the warm caring in those blue eyes. "Don't be sorry, Joss. You're only human. Let yourself be human sometimes. A lot has happened in the past year, and the ordeal with Walker was only six months ago. It'll take time to work past all that. Even with the counseling." And again she felt gratitude for his consideration, along with a tiny dash of incredulity that he knew what she was thinking, what she was feeling.

"She's so young…so sheltered…she wasn't prepared for this, wasn't prepared for Trinity's betrayal…" and as they started up the front walk, the story of the evening came pouring out of her; how Trinity Cross had betrayed Lia, bringing her to the frat house on Kylie Whistler's command; how Kylie had ignored Lia's allergic reaction to the drug and how she'd forced Lia to drink even more even as Lia was choking and struggling to breathe after the first dose. John looked a little sick at that, sick and angry, and she saw him force himself to unclench his fists. "Trinity's involved in this all the way up to her eyeballs," she finished as they walked in the front door and John closed it behind her as she dropped her purse and laptop bag on the kitchen island. "I don't know how she got involved, I don't know exactly what's been going on, but I know she's at the bottom of it. I think Olivia knows too and she wants to get to the bottom of it."

"The nurse at the hospital said there have been other cases of underage girls coming out of that frat house drunk and drugged?" John frowned.

"Yes," Joss grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

He was thinking hard. "Wasn't there that girl at Taylor's school, Christine, who recently had a baby? And didn't Taylor say that she didn't know who the father was?"

She could see where his mind was going—hers had been going in that same direction. "I thought the same thing too. I told Olivia, she's going to talk to Christine and to Trinity. There was a moment in the video when Trinity looked a little uncomfortable at the thought of leaving Lia there with Kylie and Steve, so maybe she'll prove to be the weak link and tell us what really happened. And we do need to find out how Lia ended up at the frat house with Trinity when they were supposed to be dress shopping. She sighed. "Speaking of videos, there were a couple of guys at the frat house who weren't college boys and weren't high schoolers. Seemed to know Kylie pretty well—and they asked Kylie if Lia was a virgin. As if they were looking over merchandise. Amanda Rollins pulled still shots of these two guys from the video and sent it to my phone. I told her I wanted to ask Taylor if he'd ever seen these two guys hanging around Steve and Kylie at school, but at this time of night he's probably in bed and I don't want to wake him."

"Can I see?" Joss pulled out her phone and cued up the still shots she'd gotten from Rollins on the screen; he looked at it, and nodded. "Yes, they have. I saw them. One afternoon when I went to pick Taylor up at the school after his basketball were a couple of guys—these two—sitting with Steve's college brother in the bleachers watching the cheerleaders practice. She was flirting with them—all of them. And I remember thinking she was looking for trouble."

"So they _are_ associates and they _do_ know each other. Good. I'll tell Liv or Amanda and they can look into it, find out who those two guys are. In the meantime," she sighed as she kicked off her shoes, "I wanna crawl into bed and pull it in after me."

"Do you want me to heat you up something while you go get changed?"

'No, I'm just going o go straight to bed. I don't have much of an appetite right now. Too wound up, I guess." She sighed. "How did Taylor take it?"

"He's worried about how kids will treat Lia when they get to school Monday. Otherwise…" he cleared his throat. "Taylor got upset with me for not telling him what was going on when I left him playing video games. He pointed out that when you were in trouble he'd call me first and let me know, and he said he expected he would get the same consideration from me. And got upset with me when I didn't." he sighed. "In retrospect, yeah, I should have treated him like an adult. At the time, though…all I could think of was protecting him. I didn't know what he'd do, what he'd think, if he walked into that situation with me. I treated him like a child and he was right to be angry with me."

"No. He doesn't." Joss said firmly. "If I were in your shoes I would have done the same thing. I don't want him to see that kind of ugliness. Not yet. He's too young. Still a kid. Still has some growing up to do."

"But you're supposed to think that. You're his mother. To you, he's always going to be your little boy. I'm his friend, not his father."

Joss grinned a little as she shook her head. "John, over the last year you've gone beyond being his friend. You _are_ taking on a father's role, in every sense of the word that matters. Blood itself doesn't make you a father, John. You have to be there, have to guide and teach and protect, and if you stop and think about everything you've done for Taylor over the last year—everything from playing video games with him to helping him pick a suit for the dance, teaching him to drive—behind my back, may I point out…"

John had the grace to flush and look embarrassed.

"…and teaching him self-defense, fortunately this time _not_ behind my back…you _have_ been becoming his father. When you say you aren't taking on a father's role, that you're just his friend—I think you, and Taylor, are the only two people who still believe that. I can see—and Sam, and Harold, and Lionel, and even Liv and Fin at the One-Six—that you're becoming Taylor's father in every sense of the word."

He was silent for a moment. "Well, when you put it like that…"

"John, you are Taylor's father now, in everything but name and blood. Paul may have the claim to those two items, but that doesn't make him Taylor's father. Taylor, in fact, wants as little to do with Paul as possible—he made that clear when we went shopping for a suit for his Valentine's dance. I offered to drop him off at Paul's and he emphatically resisted. And yet, when we ran into you t the store, he was pretty quick to decide he wanted _you_ to help him. So, John, if it makes you feel better, you can keep insisting to yourself—and Taylor—that you're just his friend, but you're only fooling the two of you. Everyone else who knows both of you, and sees the two of you together, knows that's an excuse that only the two of you believe." She stood up on tiptoe to kiss him. "I'm going to bed now."

Bemused, he watched her leave the kitchen.

* * *

He lay in the dark in his own room for a long time, going over everything that he'd done in the last year, with Taylor. He hadn't wanted to replace Taylor's father. Hadn't wanted to become Taylor's father. Had never envisioned becoming a father, or even a father figure, to a teenaged boy. He wanted to be a friend, a confidant, someone Taylor could count on when he or his mother were in trouble; but that had grown to a genuine liking and respect for the boy, and since they had all moved into this new apartment together, their relationship had grown to one that was as close to a family that John had ever experienced. Greeting Joss when she came in the door, cooking for all of them when he could; coming home after a day of working on Harold's numbers, to find Joss ready to fix him something hot to eat, give him an ice pak for the inevitable bruises, and a massage when his muscles were sore—oh, those massages!—and even a little…stress relief…after a tense day. So very different from the sterile environment he'd lived in since Jessica left, since the demands of his job—and Kara—had forced him to subsume the emotional, caring side of him called 'John' and force him to maintain a persona as 'Reese'. Over the last year, that had been slowly changing, incrementally. Joss had undone the damage those demands had done to his soul, and her love, compassion and total acceptance of him, of all facets of his personality, had been reintegrating his disparate personalities as thoroughly and completely as a trained psychologist would have done. Maybe better. He felt more alive now than he ever had been, in comparison with the bleak, empty shell he'd been when he'd first met her in the precinct after the subway fight. Then, he'd seen nothing worth living for; empty years stretching out before him filled with nothingness; he'd started drinking to numb the pain he felt when he looked into that void, drank to try and wind up his courage to finally use that bullet he carried with him.

And then Joss had walked in, and he'd felt a tiny spark of interest when she'd cracked her first joke; then Harold had bailed him out, made his job 'offer' in the most ridiculous, unorthodox manner possible—but that approach had been guaranteed to spark interest in the emotional part of John's soul. And thus had started the long road back; it had taken four years, nearly five now, but he couldn't imagine using that bullet now. He had too much to live for, too much to look forward to. And now, it wasn't just his work with Harold and Harold's numbers; now it was time spent with Joss, either in bed or out of it; sharing a quiet morning or a quick cup of coffee on a busy morning; surprising her while she was working with a cup of coffee or an encouraging smile; her by his side when they went to tackle one of Harold's numbers; fixing meals for each other or performing first aid on their various bumps and bruises.

And Taylor.

And what Joss said was true; he could see it now. He wasn't fooling anyone but himself and Taylor. He enjoyed spending time with the boy; shooting hoops on a court, driving lessons, lessons in the gym, carpooling Taylor and Lia home, planning special surprises like the tickets to the martial arts tournament. Somewhere along the way he's turned into Taylor's Dad and never realized it.

A sudden sound interrupted his reverie and he sat up in bed, listened. A muffled sound, but he knew almost instinctively who it was and where it was coming from. Before he'd even consciously processed it, his body was already in motion, climbing out of bed, out of his room, down the hall to Joss's room door, opening it quietly. And he saw Joss curled up in the middle of her bed, crying.

Another nightmare, the rational part of his mind identified, but the emotional side of him only had one instinct; comfort. He crossed the room in two quick steps, flicked on the bedside light—Joss had gotten a lamp that lit at a touch on its shade, and it had three levels of brightness; a single light touch brought dim illumination, enough for her to see that it was him so she wouldn't have a panicked reaction, but not bright enough to be harsh on dark-adjusted eyes. "Hey, Joss," he said quietly. "It's me. It's okay."

She didn't respond with a startled reaction; she identified him. "S-s-sorry," she sobbed. "H-h-had a n-nightmare…Walker..he…Fresh shudders wracked her body, and he lay down next to her, wrapping his arms around her tightly. It had been a couple months since she'd had nightmares about Walker; but seeing Lia helpless on the bed must have triggered memories, flashbacks that in turn triggered nightmares.

His heart ached as he hugged her tight. "It's okay, Joss. It's okay." He hugged her tightly, and she turned in his arms, buried her face in his chest. She wasn't crying, but she was shaking, and he simply held her until they stopped; he'd woken from a few nightmares of his own with the shakes, and while formerly that meant he'd spend the rest of the night working out, trying to wear himself out so he could sleep again, if he had those nightmares while in bed with Joss she could lull him back to sleep again. And he'd found he did the same for her. He'd wondered one time if it was something that happened with veterans with PTSD, but in the end decided he wasn't curious enough to go digging for that information—it was enough that his cuddling worked for Joss, and her cuddling him worked on him. There was a sense of security and safety with her that he simply didn't get anywhere else.

When her shudders finally subsided, he reached across the bed and tapped the lampshade until the light went off; her bedroom went dark, the only light coming from the streetlights lining the back alley shining through the drapes in her bedroom window. He was sure she'd gone to sleep, was almost asleep himself—he always slept more soundly with her than when alone—when she spoke. "John…I was just remembering something Fin and Olivia said today…if you could, would you marry me?"

He was suddenly instantly awake. "Um…seriously?" he hedged, trying to buy time to find words to say what he felt.

"Yes, seriously."

He gave up trying to figure out what to say and just spoke from his gut, a soul-deep instinctive reaction to her question. "Yes, Joss. If it were possible, yes, I would. In a heartbeat. I've never met anyone like you, and I never will again. I can't imagine what my life would be like now without you. If something happened to you, I don't know if I could go on—I think the only thing that would keep me from joining you would be Taylor." And that surprised him even as he said it; yes, the boy was that important to him. "Would you? I didn't know if you'd consider marrying me." And all those long-ago dreams resurfaced. Wife, child...true, at the time, those dreams included Jessica, and little blond children that looked like her; but now there was Joss, and the thought of spending the rest of his life with her and Taylor.

But he'd been worried about Paul Carter's betrayal and abuse of Joss. Would the experience have left her so emotionally scarred that she would never want to commit to anyone again like that, never want to marry anyone and let anyone that deeply into her life? True, he was about as deep as he could get, but marriage would be a whole different level of intimacy, a commitment that their current situation—him having a room in her house—didn't encompass. But the thought of being married to Joss filled him with delight. "Yes, I would. John. If it were possible, yes, I'd marry you."

His heart leaped in his chest. "So…should we consider this an engagement?" he tried to joke, make light of it.

He felt her body shake, but from laughter this time. "If you'd like we can get rings," she said.

"I would like that," he said softly. "A reminder that I belong to you now. Even if we can't get married on paper." He didn't need a piece of paper to say he was married to her. He'd been married to her, in his heart, for a couple of years now.

"I don't need a piece of paper. There's been no one but you since before Cal." Yes, he'd known her brief relationship with Cal had been friendly but not serious. "Okay. We can get rings."


End file.
